


Songbird

by AnaliseGrey



Series: Along the Way [12]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Abduction, Acid Burns, Aftermath of Starvation, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of captivity, Bathing/Washing, Beating, Body Modification, Broken Bones, Caning, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Collars, Concussions, Corporal Punishment, Dehumanization, Dehydration, Dissociation, Forced Nudity, Forced Subservience, Frumpkin as an Emotional Support Cat, Gags, Hallucinations, Humiliation, Hypervigilance, Implied Fantasy Racism- against tieflings, Isolation, Kidnapping, Loss of Agency, M/M, Manhandling, Mention of tail trauma, Needles (mention), Nightmares, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Painful Magic Healing, Panic Attacks, Permanent Injury, Processing Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Restraints, Self-harm without the intent to cause pain, Sensory Deprivation, Slavery, Solitary Confinement, Stabbing, Starvation, Tail Trauma, Torture, Whipping, bastinado, discussion of grief/mourning, flaying, magical coercion, magical compulsion, non-canonical Iron Shepherds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-02 08:15:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18807253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: In retrospect, he should have known better.Molly assumes it’s a misunderstanding; it wouldn’t be the first time his infernal heritage has caused him trouble, someone of small mind and smaller sensibilities taking exception to his presence and assuming he’s up to no good. Point being, he isn’t overly surprised when he’s approached by two Crownsguard asking that he please come with them.They’re polite, apologetic, and he’ll kick himself later at how easily they take him in, how completely he buys it. It takes him longer than it should to realize they’re not headed to the city’s stockade, to realize they’re going the wrong way. When he turns to one of them to ask where they’re going, that’s when everything goes to shit as the man at his back clocks him on the back of the head and the world goes dim and watery. Before he can react, the man hits him again and Molly crumples, everything going dark.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Picks up immediately after _[Marvelous, Awful, Terrible and Divine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/18678847)_.
> 
> This piece has been a very long time in coming, and will be posting a chapter a day, with the last chapter and an additional ficlet from Caleb's POV posting on my birthday :)
> 
> I can tell you that everything turns out more or less okay in the end. I would advise you to be very careful of the tags, because as Taliesin would say, this fic is A Lot. I'll be putting chapter-specific tags in the end notes for each chapter so you can pop to the end of each to see what specifically to watch for in that chapter. If you see something you feel should be tagged, don't hesitate to let me know. I've done my best to catch everything, but I'm only human, and am sure some things slipped through.
> 
> I'd also like to give a massive thanks to my beta, [theshoeboxqueen](http://theshoeboxqueen.tumblr.com/), and all the incredible encouragement I've gotten from the widomauk and CritFic servers on Discord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: There's art now! The amazing art you'll see at the end of this chapter was done by the incredible [@apollinares](https://twitter.com/apollinares) on twitter. Go show them some love for the stunning work they did!

In retrospect, he should have known better.

Molly assumes it’s a misunderstanding; it wouldn’t be the first time his infernal heritage has caused him trouble, someone of small mind and smaller sensibilities taking exception to his presence and assuming he’s up to no good. Point being, he isn’t overly surprised when he’s approached by two Crownsguard asking that he please come with them.

They’re polite, apologetic, and he’ll kick himself later at how easily they take him in, how completely he buys it. It takes him longer than it should to realize they’re not headed to the city’s stockade, to realize they’re going the wrong way. When he turns to one of them to ask where they’re going, that’s when everything goes to shit as the man at his back clocks him on the back of the head and the world goes dim and watery. Before he can react, the man hits him again and Molly crumples, everything going dark.

When he wakes up again, it’s to the unpleasant knowledge that things have not improved. He’s folded up, knees pressed into his chest and wrists bound tight behind him, his shoulder and the side of his face shoved against unforgiving metal bars. There’s a cloth gag that’s been stuffed between his teeth and tied around his head, digging uncomfortably into the corners of his mouth, and no amount of pushing at it with his tongue gets it to move. He lifts his head and hits something; he’s in a small cage, and there’s something draped over it, only weak light getting through. As he becomes more aware, he notices the whole cage is moving, him along with it, gently bouncing in a way he associates with riding in a cart.

Son of a _bitch_.

He squirms, trying to see how securely he’s restrained, and quickly realizes he’s stuck. He’s bound tightly, cage too cramped to allow the movement to attempt escape. His mind is going a mile a minute, trying to think of who would want to kidnap him. If this is something to do with Lucien, he’ll have to try to talk his way out of it or run. If the rest of the Nein haven’t noticed he’s missing yet, he may well be on his own for a while. It’s hard to gauge the time of day with the drape on the cage obscuring the light, but when it starts to get even darker he knows it’s getting toward nightfall, and his stomach sinks; it was early morning when he was taken.

The cart stops sometime later, and Molly thinks they’ve stopped for the night. He hopes they let him out of the cage, or at least give him water. He’s been getting progressively thirstier and hungrier as the day goes on, with no way to tell anyone, though he thinks based on his predicament, anyone he could tell probably wouldn’t be very sympathetic.

No one comes.

Eventually, despite the cramped muscles, rumbling belly and terrible thirst, he drifts off to a restless sleep.

Molly wakes up the next morning to pale light filtering into cage and the lurch of the cart as it starts to move. Everything hurts from the position he’s in, and he can’t remember his throat ever being so dry. He tries to yell through the gag, to get someone’s attention, _anyone_ , if only to lift the tarp for just a moment, but if any sound makes it through, it’s ignored.

He drifts in and out of sleep through the day, spending his waking hours uncomfortable and cycling through anger and panic; the raging emotions and lack of food and water are leaving him wrung out and exhausted, slumped listless against the bars. As much as he dreads whatever’s coming, he thinks he might go mad if he doesn’t see sky or another person soon. He’s stupidly grateful for the light that makes it into the cage, giving him faint outlines of shape. If it was pitch dark, he doesn’t know what he’d do.

The light is starting to dim again, and he’s resigning himself to another night stuck where he is when he hears raised voices, shouts that sound like greeting in tone even if he can’t parse the words. The cart comes to a stop, and the drape is pulled off the top of the cage, letting evening sun slant through the bars. He blinks against the sudden brightness, peering out to catch part of a high stone wall with a gate and the tops of buildings; the slivers of dread he’d been feeling before grow into icy shards. This is a compound, not some hidden ramshackle camp in the woods like he’d been expecting. A compound implies a lot of things- it means they’re established, whoever they are. It means they’re comfortable, embedded, _organized_ , and none of that is good for him.

Someone climbs up into the cart with him, unlocks the door to the cage and swings it open.

“Let’s go.”

Molly’s still in the process of getting his legs unfolded when he’s grabbed by an ankle and dragged out into the bed of the cart. The man pulls him to the edge and shoves him over the side like a sack of potatoes; bound as he is, he can’t catch himself when he falls, and he lands hard on his side with a muffled shout of pain. He’s quickly hauled up again and pulled along by two men, one on each arm, through the gate and inside. They move quickly through a courtyard and into a low stone building near the gate.

They drag Molly to a small room that holds a third man, a blazing fireplace, and not much else; when one of them pulls a wicked-looking blade Molly freezes, but the man just starts cutting through Molly’s clothes. He’s not careful, leaving grazes and nicks behind, but Molly’s done worse to himself, so it’s more insult than injury. The shredded pieces of his coat, shirt, leggings, and small clothes are tossed into a pile, and he’s thrown to the ground as they yank his boots off as well, leaving him naked against the cold of the stone floor. He stares wide-eyed as one of men gathers the pile of cloth and leather and unceremoniously tosses it all into the roaring fireplace. Molly watches, helpless, as his beautiful coat, the one he’d spent hours, _days_ , embroidering while in the circus- the first thing he’d ever owned that was _his_ \- goes up in smoke. He snarls behind the gag, rolling to his knees to launch himself at the man closest to him, but one of the other men easily catches him by a horn and yanks, pulling him off balance to land on his ass. They wrestle Molly onto his stomach, the slate floor of the room rough against his bare skin; one of the men sits painfully on Molly’s bound arms as they methodically remove every last piece of jewelry.

By the time they’re finished he’s shaking with rage, and gods, he hopes they remove the gag soon. He’s dizzy with thirst and hunger, but all he needs is a second, a single moment ungagged to unleash a wave of Infernal at them, to let out some of the anger boiling uselessly through him.

Instead, he’s grabbed again by the first two men and dragged from the room, down a set of stone stairs to a hallway lined with heavy wooden doors, all of which have a small barred window set in them at the top. Gods above and below, he’s in a fucking _dungeon_. He thrashes in their grasp, trying to get free; he knows there’s nowhere to run to, and even if there was, he wouldn’t get far gagged, arms bound, and naked while in the middle of an enemy compound, but rationality isn’t part of his thinking process right now.

They go to a door halfway down the hallway and pull him inside. There are no windows, the only light coming from the torches out in the hallway. They get him to the far side where there’s chains set into the wall with large, heavy manacles at the end. They don’t even untie him, clapping the irons on his forearms just above the ropes around his wrists, locking them into place.

One of the men reaches for the gag, and Molly tamps down the desire to shout for joy. If he can get them down maybe he can do something to get loose after. The man pulls the gag free and Molly is speaking before it’s even fully cleared his lips. The man flinches back with a surprised noise, toppling over and the other man is turning toward him when Molly unleashes again, spitting the foulest curses he can think of at them both, over and over until one is unconscious and the other is bleeding from his ears, writhing on the ground. He’s so close, if he can just get the other fucker to _pass out_ -

There’s a noise from the door and Molly looks up; he catches the impression of dark robes and a pale face before the figure speaks a word and agony floods him, dropping him to the floor. He’s trying to breath, to spit a curse, to do anything but scream and writhe, but it’s impossible; the pain flares, ripping through him, everywhere at once, rendering him helpless, and his vision grays around the edges, then goes dark.

When he wakes, he doesn’t think he’s been out long; his nerves are still on fire, echoes of pain sparking along them. He’s hazy, but aware enough to realize something’s been forced into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue; he tries to spit it out, but it’s connected to a plate pressed against his lips and there are straps being fastened around his horns, down either side of his nose and to his jaw with a strap that fits under chin to hold the whole thing in place. He blinks his eyes open as the person pulls back, and when he tosses his head, the straps and the thing in his mouth don't budge, keeping him silent.

Gods _damn_ it.

“That ought to hold for now. Get these two idiots to my work room, I’ll deal with them in a moment.”

A hand grabs his face, fingers digging into his jaw around the straps, tilting his head up, and there’s a woman looking back down at him like he’s an interesting specimen. It’s a look he’s familiar with, and he still doesn’t much care for it. He growls low in his throat, the only sound he can manage with his mouth forced shut.

Her smile is cool and curious, and it sends a shiver down his spine. “We’ll deal with you tomorrow.”

With a swirl of robes the woman leaves the cell, shutting the door behind her, the sound of a heavy bolt being thrown coming a moment later. Then he’s alone for the first time since this started, the faint flickering of torchlight coming through the small barred portal in the cell door the only thing preventing the room from being pitch-dark.

Now that everything is still, the aches and pains that had been drowned out by adrenaline mere moments before are making themselves known; his shoulders and arms are a misery, his wrists burning and raw from struggling against the ropes. The room spins around him even as he lays still on the floor, his dizziness getting worse, and _gods_ , the things he'd do right now for just the smallest sip of water or bite of food-

He shivers, curling up as much as he's able, wrapping his tail around himself so the spaded tip is tucked under his chin, trying to keep it warm. The cell is cool, and he's still very naked, though the nakedness itself doesn't bother him so much- he'd lost any sense of modesty he might have possessed while in the circus- but the loss of his beloved coat rankles. He snarls again, muffled by the front plate of the gag he's wearing, and wishes he’d been to kill at least one of the men who'd dragged him in here.

Molly listens, hoping for the sounds of fighting, of rescue, but while there are sounds, it's not the sounds he hopes to hear. The cell walls are stone, but even so, some noise makes it through- screams, cries, sobbing. Not very encouraging, all things considered.

For lack of anything else to do, he rests his head on the floor and tries to get comfortable. When exhausted sleep creeps up on him, he lets it take him.

~~~

He wakes a few times, but dozes off again. He hasn’t eaten since the morning he was taken, hasn’t had water since then either, and as much as he wants to rage and struggle, he just doesn’t have the energy. His lips are dry and cracked around the gag, and the hunger pangs are enough to double him over; Molly knows this is a tactic, something the people who took him are doing on purpose to weaken him, but knowing doesn’t do anything to combat the effect it’s having. Even if he were suddenly freed of all his bindings, he doesn’t think he’d make it more than a few steps without collapsing back to the stone floor of his cell.

He’s just dozing off again when there’s a sound at the door, the bolt being thrown with the creak of hinges as the door swings inward. It’s the two men from the day before, looking better than the last time Molly saw them, and they look the unfortunate combination of smug and pissed-off that tells Molly he’s going to be hurting soon. He’s proven correct when they both approach, one of them kicking him sharply in the ribs before he can move. Molly curls in to protect himself as much as he can, but the other man is grabbing his hair, yanking back before using the grip to slam Molly’s head into the floor. Stars explode behind Molly’s eyes, and while he’s still trying to recover, the first one kicks him again in the same spot. Molly feels something in his chest give, and his next breath brings stabbing pain with it.

Molly loses time- he blinks and the chains are off, he blinks again, and they have him by the arms, dragging him down a hallway. His side burns, feels like he’s being stabbed every time he draws breath, and his head is throbbing with an edge of nausea that speaks of concussion. He can’t get his eyes to focus right, which worries him, but he doesn’t honestly know if it’s the concussion or the lack of food and water causing it.

They carry him into a room and drop him to the floor, his bare knees jarring against the rough stone under them. Metal once again encircles his arms, and one of the men grabs his horns, holding him still as the other places a metal collar around his throat, linked to a short chain embedded in the floor in front of him. He has to bend forward slightly, straining his arms and shoulders further to keep from pulling on his neck, and gods, he just wants to lay down, to sleep.

It takes him a minute to realize the men aren’t there anymore, the area around him once again quiet, and he glances up to see as much of his surroundings as he can.

The room is well-lit, torches dotted every few feet in sconces along the walls. There are tables, covered in books and other things which he can’t easily see. He appears to be in the one empty space in the room, and his panic spikes as he realizes that this, too, is a work space. He struggles, pulling on his arms, at the collar, trying to move, to get away, but there’s no give to the chains, and the small amount of energy his panic has gifted him is soon spent, leaving him gasping and in more pain than before. His heart is still racing when he hears quiet footsteps behind him, and he can’t stop the noise of distress that makes it out past the gag. The figure moves around to where he can see it, and he finds the same woman from the day before. She’s pale, human, and dressed again in dark robes. There’s a pendant around her neck which fills him with a sense of foreboding; it looks like it has the imprint of shackles worked into it, and that does nothing to set Molly's mind at ease.

She reaches a hand for him, and he pulls back without conscious thought, caught short by the collar at his throat. Her fingertips are ice cold where they press to his temples, and when he shakes his head to break the contact, her grip firms, holding him like a vice. He remembers not that long ago something similar, and no, _not again_ , he can’t do this again-

But it’s not the same, and that’s both better and yet so much worse.

Power flares through where her fingers make contact, burning against his skin, and something _slithers_ into his mind, like an eel working through his brain, and he chokes on a whimper at the sensation, missing it when she starts speaking.

“-not seek to do anyone else harm, or suffer the consequences.”

She pulls her hands back and something snaps into place in his mind; it feels like a lock or a door clicking shut, something completing, and he shudders in his bonds.

The woman tilts her head at him, considering, then smiles. “Good.” She places her hands on his face again, and the same power flares, but _stronger_ , digging furrows into his mind, and he’s shaking, overwhelmed and powerless to stop it. The power spikes as she starts to speak, and he screams, glad for the bit in his mouth that keeps him from biting his tongue.

“You shall not speak until I lift this command from you, or suffer the consequences.”

And again, the feeling of finality, of binding, a manacle locking, but around his mind instead of his body. She pulls back and he sags, shuddering, exhausted beyond measure. He’s done, so _very_ done, but he doesn’t appear to have much say in what’s happening right now.

She reaches for him again, and he flinches back. Gods, what else, what else is the bitch going to-

“Stop that,” she says, as if to a petulant child, and catches hold of one of the straps from the gag, pulling his head closer, unbuckling the contraption from around his head and horns. When she gets the whole thing undone, she tugs the mouthpiece from between his lips, and he grimaces as the metal slat slides against his tongue on the way out. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, why she would ungag him. It feels like a trap, but he doesn’t see how.

She smiles down at him.

“Go on, I know you want to.”

Molly snarls, opens his mouth to speak but has the oddest moment of hesitation. He wants to scream Infernal at her until her ears bleed, but there’s a small voice inside telling him not to. He’s pretty sure that voice isn’t _his_ , which only spurs him on. He gets as far as “ _Fuck y-_ ” when a silent explosion goes off in his head, rendering him speechless. He would scream, but can’t find the voice for it, the pain overwhelming. He desperately wants to clutch at his head as spots dance in his vision and Molly realizes he’s stopped breathing; when he drags a gasp of air in, his ribs scream at him, and he finally topples sideways, his arms wrenching behind him as he falls. He’s never felt anything like this before, can’t process it. The pain is different than what she’d done to him the day before; that had been all-encompassing, unfocused. This is in his head, spikes of agony lancing through his temples. His vision goes grey again, and this can’t be good for the concussion.

His vision tunnels, and the last thing he sees before unconsciousness takes him is the woman’s feet coming to stand in front of him.

~~~

He comes to back in the cell, shivering against the stone. The gag is still gone, and he’s still bound, once again chained to the wall. This time, though, there’s a shallow bowl near him filled with water, and with a little effort he’s able to squirm over to it, carefully sipping so he doesn’t spill any. He forces himself to go slow, even though it’s torture; he can’t risk making himself sick and throwing it back up. He licks up the last few drops, refusing to feel any shame in the action.

He’s so preoccupied by the water that it takes until he’s finished it and collapsed back to the floor to realize they’ve healed him while he was unconscious. It no longer hurts to breathe, and his head only has a phantom ache to remind him of what had happened when he’d tried to speak.

After some effort, he gets himself up onto his knees and shuffles over to lean against the wall so if nothing else he won’t have a stiff neck in the morning. The stone is cold against his back, and he wonders if they’ll be giving him something to wear anytime soon. He curls his tail around himself again, tucking the point in against his neck for warmth, and falls asleep telling himself the others are coming, are looking for him. It’s just a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for:  
> -abduction/kidnapping  
> -restraints  
> -implied fantasy racism (against tieflings)  
> -deprivation (starvation/dehydration)  
> -manhandling  
> -forced nudity/clothing removal  
> -torture  
> -gags  
> -captivity  
> -beating  
> -broken bones (ribs)  
> -concussion  
> -dehumanization  
> -magical compulsion/coercion


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder to please mind the tags, and check the end notes for chapter-specific tags/warnings.

Time is difficult to track.

Molly’s been awake for awhile now, but has no idea if the night is over, or if it even was night to start with; the not-knowing is killing him. It’s a stupid thing to obsess over, but he can’t help think that if he only knew what time it was it would somehow make things better (he pointedly doesn’t think about how spending so much time with Caleb has gotten him used to always knowing the time, about how wrong it feels now to _not_ know). He doesn’t know what they _want_ , why he’s here, which makes it difficult to think about how to escape.

He’s in the process of thinking through new configurations of curses in Infernal to fling at them given a chance when the _thud_ of the bolt on the door being thrown comes a moment before the door swings open, hinges loud in the near-quiet of the cell.

He struggles to get his feet under him as two new men enter and move towards him. Standing is difficult; the water he’d had the day before wasn’t anywhere near enough for the state of deprivation he’s in, and his legs tremble, but they hold. The men don’t say anything, but they’re not gentle as they slam him chest-first into the wall so they can reach the cuffs on his arms. The locks open, and they pull him along, same as the day before. They go down a different hallway than previously, and Molly’s anxiety ratchets higher the further along they go. There are doors here, too, spaced more sparsely than the holding cells, but they’re made entirely of bars instead of wood, and noise carries easily through them, echoing up and down the stone hallway. It’s chaotic, the sounds of screaming, sobbing, and begging paired with sounds of violence- the snap of whips, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and too many other noises to name- combining into a horrifying composition that drives an icy spike of terror through Molly’s gut; he wonders how long it will take before his voice joins theirs.

They approach an open doorway and haul him through, dragging him toward the center of the room. In the quick look he gets he catches more stone walls, a table against one of them covered in items he doesn’t have time to identify. In the center of the room a drain in the floor draws his attention, and it fills him with an increasing sense of foreboding. Above the drain, there’s a horizontal metal bar with two open manacles, one at either end, and it becomes quickly apparent that’s where they’re dragging him. He starts to shout ‘ _No_!’, but the first sound is barely past his lips before his mind explodes in pain again, whiting out everything around him. He comes back to himself, and they’ve already untied his wrists. It’s the first time they’ve been free in days, and as much as he wants to enjoy it, it’s agonizing after being held in one position so long. They pull his arms around front and then up, locking his wrists in the manacles and pulling the bar back up toward the ceiling until his arms are above him; his feet are on the floor, but not by much.

A visceral memory of Caleb locked into the same kind manacles, screaming, fills his mind, and Molly panics, thrashing. He’s as unsuccessful in freeing himself as Caleb had been, and moments later he’s exhausted himself. His legs are trembling again, chest heaving, heart racing, and he really wishes the room would stop spinning.

“Are you finished?”

Molly startles at the voice, swallowing down a pained noise as the movement pulls at his arms and wrists.

In front of him is another tiefling, his skin burgundy with eyes that gleam a deep gold from under a fall of black hair. His horns, tipped with gold caps, rise up at a gently tilted slope, instead of curling around like Molly’s. Molly just stares, momentarily stunned.

The other man narrows his eyes, searching, and apparently finds what he’s looking for because he breaks into a grin, the sharp points of his fangs glinting. “Ah, there you are. I thought I’d introduce myself since we’re going to be working together.” The man moves forward, reaching up to take Molly’s chin in a hard grip, and leans in until they’re almost nose-to-nose.

“My name is Carum, and I’m going to be your trainer.”

~~~

It’s been his motto for most of his two years of life that ignorance is bliss. Not just in regards to the life his body lived before he was in it, but just in general. It’s much more difficult to live in the moment enjoying every second of time you have if you’re always worried about potential impending doom bearing down on you. That’s not to say he doesn’t like to be prepared- sometimes preparation is the thin line that separates you from death. For the most part, though, he prefers not to know what’s coming, to live happily in the moment, and if something bad _is_ on the way, why borrow worry before you have to?

It’s difficult reconciling the seeming inevitability of what’s going to happen to him with his normally cheerful outlook. Molly has no illusions that Carum won’t do exactly what he says he will. As an intrepid wanderer, there’s always the potential for peril; his adventures so far with the Mighty Nein have proven that to him tenfold. However, the potential for danger is very different than being told in no-uncertain terms that someone is going to do their damndest to break you open and take you apart piece-by-piece until you’re a pliant empty shell.

He’s been there, done that, would rather not repeat it, thanks.

“ _A client ordered you_ ,” Carum had said. “ _Well, not you specifically, but ‘something pretty, something eye-catching’, and you fit the bill quite nicely. We’re lucky our scouts spotted you. You are a rather unique shade, and you even come pre-decorated._ ”

He does a lot to Molly that first day, experimenting, seeing what makes Molly scream or whimper, what makes him cry or struggle; it’s a learning experience for both of them. Molly learns that the things they put in his head can only trigger once per command in a day. He learns this by accident when Carum flays a strip of skin off him, only a few inches square along his ribs, and Molly starts begging. The injury burns and stings, but there’s no explosion in his head.

Molly can’t begin to guess what will happen to him next, and he doesn’t really want to. He does his best not to think about it when he’s alone in his cell that night, but it’s cold and dark, and he’s still starving. They’ve given him more water, almost half a water skin this time, but still no food, and he’s feeling it. There were times in the circus where food was hard to come by, so he’s not unfamiliar with prolonged hunger, the progression it takes. He’s never gone this long without _something_ , though he knows as long as they keep giving him water, it will take a long time to kill him purely through starvation. He wouldn’t be surprised if that’s part of the plan; desperation makes people malleable, easier to crack.

Molly runs a hand over the plane of his stomach, down over his side. They’ve left the ropes off, but have him cuffed again, arms in front this time, thank the Moonweaver. For all the damage Carum did to him- and he’d done a _lot_ \- all it took was a few moments for the cleric bitch- Zerani, he’s since learned- to come in and heal him, and now it’s like nothing even happened.The healing had hurt, like all the wounds happening in reverse, but by the end there were no marks. No sign where his skin was methodically flayed off, nothing from the hot skewers Carum had driven through his limbs, nothing from the barbed whip or the knives. The cane had been especially bad, pulling screams and pleading out of him like nothing else, even if the damage hadn't been anywhere near as catastrophic as with the other items. Even then- nothing.

All of that, all that pain and misery and suffering, and it’s just _gone_ ; even the blood is gone, whisked away by a casting or two of Prestidigitation. It’s not that Molly _wants_ to be covered in the physical evidence of what he’s gone through, but there’s something supremely unsatisfying about suffering all of that with nothing to show for it, like they’re stealing something from him.

He curls up against the wall with his head pillowed on his arms. It’s not comfortable- the stone is just as hard as it was the last two nights, and it’s just as cold against his bare skin- but having the wall at his back makes him feel better, and being able to lay down properly with the use of his arms is better as well.

The next day sees him back in the stone room with Carum, though this time he’s laid out and cuffed down to a table. The metal cuffs chafe at his wrists and ankles as he struggles, but it’s barely noticeable compared to everything else that’s going on. Zerani is there, conversing quietly with Carum; from the few words Molly’s caught, they’re discussing his scarring, and possible ways of removing it. When Carum comes at him with a scalpel again, Molly bites through his lip to keep from speaking, but he can’t stop the wordless cry of pain as Carum excises another square of skin from his chest then steps back as Molly lies on the table bleeding. Zerani steps forward, one hand on her holy symbol, the other lightly touching Molly, and he screams as his skin reforms, the magic burning like acid. When she pulls her hand back, the wound has healed over, a square of smooth lavender skin amidst the sea of scars.

“So it’s doable, then.” Carum says, contemplative.

“Yes, but it will be time consuming.” She taps a fingertip against her lips as she leans closer over Molly to get a better look. He cringes back, but the cuffs don’t allow him to go far. “There’s a lot to mend, and there’s only so much I can alot for it in a given day. Once we know it’s worth the investment of time and energy, we’ll set perhaps a week or so aside to devote to it.”

Carum nods in agreement, and it’s infuriating how they talk about him like he isn’t even there, like he’s not a _person_ , and the temptation to spit curses at them both is near overwhelming. Carum catches the look on his face and smiles, but doesn’t otherwise react. “Well, you go on then and get back to whatever it is you do when you’re not cleaning up my handiwork.” He rolls his shoulders and glances down with a look that sends a shudder down Molly’s spine. “I have some of my own work to do.”

She leaves and Carum grabs a stool, bringing it over to sit near the top end of the table, resting his elbows on it near Molly’s head and just watches Molly for a few minutes. Molly’s used to being stared at, and sometimes even enjoys it, but this is intensely unnerving.

“So here’s what’s going to happen.” Carum reaches out and runs his fingers through Molly’s hair, claws catching in a few tangles when Molly jerks his head back and away. “I explained a bit yesterday, but didn’t want to overwhelm you with details; I know the first day is kind of rough.”

Molly’s unease is growing. The other man sounds like he’s talking about something _mundane_ , not like he’d spent the day before torturing Molly within an inch of his life just to see what would happen. “I’m going to hurt you. A lot. You’re going to end up hating me, and that’s okay.” His fingers pause in their run through Molly’s hair and tighten into a fist, the grip forcing Molly’s head to still as he leans in closer. “There will of course be training as well, we can’t have you running around causing havoc in your new home. You must be taught how to act, how to carry yourself, and I’ll be seeing to that as well.”

Molly snarls, trying to wrench his hair loose, but fails. ‘Training’ his spectacular purple _ass_. Nobody is training him. They can all go _fuck_ themselves if they think-

“Lesson one-” Carum uses his grip on Molly’s hair to pull his head to an uncomfortable angle, placing his other hand over the exposed line of Molly’s throat, the clawed tip of his thumb pressing into the soft underside of Molly’s jaw. “Lesson one is that I can do whatever I want to you, and you can’t stop it. I expect you’ll fight- everyone does at first- but the point is you can’t win. There is nothing you can do, nothing you can say, nothing you can offer that will stop this from happening. The sooner you accept that, the easier things will be.”

Molly’s mind rails against the very thought that he’d ever stop fighting. Not fighting means giving in, deciding that what these people are doing to him is okay, and it’s most decidedly _not_.

“I’m very patient.” Carum releases his hold on Molly’s hair and throat, sitting up again on his stool. “My patience is likely to outlast your tolerance for pain, but who knows; every once in awhile one of you surprises me. I’m willing to bet that I can outlast you and what you’re able and willing to take. I’ve got all the time in the world, but I’m guessing I won’t need it. Everyone has limits.”

Molly growls, leveling his best glare at the other man, but Carum just smiles, serene.

“Shall we begin?”

***

A few hours later and he’s being dragged back to his cell, shivering miserably. Carum had used some sort of spell, something that spat cold in bursts that left coats of frost over Molly’s skin before melting, only to refreeze when the next burst of cold skated over him. Now he’s aching with cold, the manacles they lock him back into in his cell feeling warm by comparison, though he knows they’re not. He’s not resistant to cold the way Jester is, much better adapted to withstanding heat and fire. At the thought of his friend he curls in on himself. It hurts to think of her, of any of the Nein. He thinks of what would have happened if they’d seen her first, what would be happening to her right now-

But they _didn’t_ see her, they saw him, and for that he’s grateful. Better him than her. Thinking of Jester brings him to think of the rest of the Nein, to wonder what they’re doing, if they’re looking for him. He hopes they are, wants to believe that they’ll try to find him, to rescue him, to get him out of here, along with whoever else they can save; nobody deserves this.

He thinks of Caleb, and wraps thoughts of the wizard around himself like a blanket even as the memory aches under his ribs. He’ll make it through this. They’re looking for him, he knows they are. He just has to last long enough.

The next few days go much the same, and they start to run together- they drag him from his cell and down the hallways to the workroom where Carum waits for him, each day bringing a new torment. His second day Carum spends time dripping acid in painful patterns across Molly’s skin, unconcerned by Molly’s struggles or cries of pain. The third day it’s needles, and the fourth day the barbed whip makes a reappearance, shredding his skin like it’s made of wet paper.

And each day, at the end, the cleric returns and sets him to rights, leaving him a tear-streaked mess with nothing to show for the pain he’s been put through. He ends up back in his cell with what’s become his customary bowl of water and smaller bowl of some sort of stew. It’s enough to keep him alive, but never enough to sate him. He’s always hungry, always thirsty, and feels weak and exhausted in a way he can’t recall ever feeling in his waking life. It’s wearing on him, but he refuses to stop fighting. He still struggles, refuses to go anywhere quietly or easily. Carum is going to do what he’s going to do anyway, he’s said as much. If they’re going to hurt him either way, he might as well fight back. He quickly learns when he’s in rough enough shape that trying to speak or lashing out at Carum will knock him out. It hurts like a bitch every time, but sometimes that little bit of respite, even if it’s only a few moments before he’s revived, is enough to help buoy his resolve.

Molly’s lost track of the days, but at a point, Carum decides it’s time for lesson two.

Molly is standing in the middle of the room, hands bound behind him, but not attached to anything. Carum picks something up off the table by the wall that jingles softly as he carries it over.

“Any benefit or correction you receive is at my discretion, and eventually at your master’s. That includes things like-” Carum starts to count off on his fingers, “-food, water, clothing, warmth, cleanliness, and the like. You’ve already seen examples of those, but, it also means we decide what is deserving of correction.” Carum smiles at him, waggling a claw-tipped finger in his direction. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you knocking yourself out on purpose. I’d like to nip that bit of bad behavior in the bud.” He reaches for Molly’s throat, but switches to one of Molly’s horns when he tries to shy back, yanking him forward again.

“Every time you try to evade me, I’m adding stripes with the cane. You’re up to ten already, and we haven’t even started yet. How many did you feel like taking today?”

Molly shudders; he hates the cane most out of all the things Carum has done to him so far, and he goes still before he realizes he’s doing it. It galls him, the thought of doing anything willingly at Carum’s command, and his stomach twists unpleasantly with the knowledge that giving in is a slippery slope. Giving in once only makes it easier to do it again.

Carum must have a similar thought because he grins as he fastens the belled collar around Molly’s neck.

“There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Molly scowls at him, but holds back a snarl.

“Good boy.” Carum pats Molly’s cheek and on reflex Molly turns his head to snap at Carum’s fingers. The pain is blinding as always, and when Molly regains awareness he’s on the floor, his arms pinned uncomfortably under him and his head swimming with remembered pain.

“Well, there’s another ten for you.” Carum reaches down and grabs him by the hair, hauling up until Molly is forced unsteadily to his feet.

“You’re going to stand here, in the middle of the room, and you’re going to be still. Every time I hear that bell, it adds a strike onto your total. If you knock yourself out again, that adds another ten, and I’ll just revive you and keep going as long as I feel like. You’re already starting with twenty so you might want to give some serious thought to how important your pride is to you.”

The time crawls by, and though he intends to stay still, to not invite more punishment, standing still in one place for hours on end is much harder than Molly expects, and he starts accumulating extra stripes. Carum is sitting in a chair nearby with a book, and every time the bell chimes, he reaches over with a stub of chalk and marks a tick on a small slate next to him. Otherwise, he ignores Molly entirely.

The inclination to move, to shift his stance, to _sit_ , if only for a moment, is strong, and after a point it’s taking all his will not to just sink to the floor and deal the consequences. The only thing stopping him is that with everything he’s been through so far, he still remembers the bite of the cane from that first day. Carum has done worse to him since then- a _lot_ worse- but for some reason the cane is what sticks in his mind. Knowing he’s already in for over twenty strikes is enough to make him want to cry, to beg Carum not to, but he knows that will only encourage the man to use the cane _more_ , and there are few things in the world Molly wants less than that.

It gets more and more difficult to hold position as the day progresses; he’s been standing for hours with no break, hungry and thirsty, his body aching. He’s starting to tremble, and it won’t be long before it’s strong enough to make the bell sound.

“Alright, I think that’s enough.”

Molly startles at Carum’s voice, and the bell jangles loudly. He freezes, eyes darting up, but the other man waves a hand dismissively as he rises from his chair. “No, I won’t hold that one against you.”

Molly hates that he’s grateful, sickens at the flood of relief that he’s avoided even one extra strike.

“Now then.” Carum moves behind him and unfastens the collar with the bell, tossing it over to land back on the table and grabs Molly’s arm, pulling him along behind as he makes for the corner of the room, whistling sharply.

A moment later, two men come through the door and take Molly, unbinding his hands and forcing him to his knees over a low rough-hewn bench. There are thick leather cuffs that they use to hold Molly in place, his wrists pinned to either side of the front of the bench, pulling him forward and down, preventing him from sitting up. He feels another strap being tightened over the back of his calves near his knees, another over his waist, and his breath quickens. He knows what’s coming, knows there’s nowhere to go, no way to escape it, and that makes it worse. He’s already shaking, twisting and pulling his wrists in the cuffs in a futile effort to get free, but they hold fast.

“So, what did you get up to...thirty two strikes, I think, it was.” Carum clucks his tongue, and Molly shudders, trying to breath through the panic that’s clouding his thoughts. There’s the whistle of a cane slicing through air and Molly jolts, though the anticipated impact doesn’t come.

“Oh relax, I’m just warming up. I’ll let you know when I’m starting, pet, don’t you worry.”

He can’t even bristle at the nickname Carum has started calling him, can’t focus on anything beyond the fact that he’s trapped and helpless.

“Alright then. Brace yourself, because this is _really_ going to hurt.”

Almost before Carum finishes speaking, there’s another whistle and a line of fiery pain lights across the back of Molly’s thighs, ripping a cry out of him. He has no idea if Carum is hitting him at full strength, but it doesn’t matter. Each impact is just as agonizing as the first, the pain driving just as deep, inescapable and layered.

By the tenth strike, Molly is screaming. By the nineteenth he’s sobbing, weakly pulling at his arms just because he can’t _not_ struggle. Carum lands a particularly vicious strike that catches Molly’s lashing tail, and Molly manages the first half of the word ‘ _Please_ ’ before he passes out, only for Carum to revive him a moment later with a grin.

“Well, that’s another ten to your total, isn’t it?”

Molly passes out twice more before Carum reaches the last five strikes, and they revive him each time.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of your correction that easily, pet. Now, I want to be sure this lesson stays with you. Gentlemen, if you would hold his legs for me?”

Rough hands grab at Molly’s calves and ankles with grips like iron, and he can’t breathe, can’t get enough air as he struggles fruitlessly against their hold on him. The faintest idea of what’s coming flits at the edge of his mind, but he’s barely coherent past the maelstrom of pain and panic he’s in.

There’s a whistle, and when the cane finds the soles of his feet he’s not surprised, but the knowledge he was right does little to ease the pain of what feels like spikes being driven up through his legs. He can’t scream anymore, his throat scraped raw, but he still tries, broken wheezes the only thing he can manage.

Eventually the last strike hits and the men let go of his legs, leaving him sobbing silently across the bench. He doesn’t have the strength to move, can hardly see straight, and doesn’t fight when they unbuckle the cuffs and straps. The men grab his arms, hoisting him up, and Molly chokes on what would be a scream if he could voice it. He can’t stand, can’t fathom trying to walk on what feels like shards of glass in his feet, and so the men drag him in front of Carum and hold him in place for inspection.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, pet. No more trying to wriggle out of things, hm?”

Molly doesn’t react, _can’t_ react, but Carum seems appeased, and he gives the men instructions to return Molly to his cell to think his lesson over.

Molly can’t be anything but thankful when he passes out again and they let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags:  
> -enslavement  
> -mention of past food scarcity  
> -torture  
> -flaying  
> -whipping  
> -impalement/stabbing  
> -caning  
> -magical healing for nefarious purposes/painful healing  
> -non-consensual body modification (scar removal)  
> -loss of agency  
> -implied threat  
> -acid burns  
> -needles (mention, non-graphic)  
> -corporal punishment  
> -bastinado


	3. Chapter 3

Zerani doesn’t come to heal him until the next morning.

Molly spends a restless, pain-filled night, for once thankful for the chill of the stone floors against his skin, soothing against the welts from the cane. Her healing,when it comes, is painful as ever, the wounds feeling as if they’re being pulled forcibly out of him; he’s thankful though that the welts and split skin over his ass and the back of his thighs have diminished to a deep ache and some bruising by the time she’s done. She doesn’t heal his feet, and when he gives her a look, she smiles down at him, more a baring of teeth than an expression of joy. “Carum wishes you to continue your lesson, dear. Far be it from me to question his method of instruction.”

She takes her leave, and instead of the two men who usually escort him to the work room, Carum himself makes an appearance.

“And how’s my favorite project feeling this morning?”

Molly glares at him, but it lacks heat, the pain and exhaustion weighing him down; the realization that he still has a whole day of dealing with Carum ahead of him only weighs him down further. Carum grins at him, tail flicking behind him before moving into the cell and unlocking the cuffs from Molly’s wrists. He steps back to the cell door and gestures toward Molly. “Well? Come along then.”

Molly freezes, unsure what to do. Carum raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you looking for another correction so soon, pet? I said come along.”

Molly steels himself, going to his hands and knees, and attempts to stand, limbs shaking. He’s barely on his feet before he collapses back down with a choked cry of pain. The pain in his feet is agonizing, and he knows he won’t be able to walk, even if he does manage to get himself upright.

“I believe I gave you an order.” Carum’s tone shifts, going cold and edged, and Molly shudders. He pushes up to shaking hands and knees again and crawls forward.

He makes it to Carum and stops, looking up to find him grinning, fangs glinting in the low torch light from the hallway.

“ _Good_ boy.”

He has Molly crawl all the way to the work room, and by the time he makes it to the doorway, Molly’s near collapse. His knees and palms both are scraped, bruised and bleeding from the rough stone of the floors. Carum prods him forward through the door and into the center of the room, and waves a hand at Molly.

“You may sit.”

Molly’s in too much pain to feel indignant, and his pride deserted him weeks ago. He falls sideways, catching his breath as Carum heads for his work table, and their usual routine starts anew.

The days bleed one into another until Molly doesn’t know anymore how long he’s been here. Weeks, at least, though probably a month or more; he tries not to think about it. If he thinks too hard about how long he’s been here, how much he’s endured, how much is still left to endure, the fact that there’s no seeming end to his suffering in sight- it’s too much. That kind of weight is the sort a person could easily break under. It’s a delicate balance that’s getting more and more difficult to maintain; he doesn’t want to give up hope- hope that his friends are coming, that this will have an end- but it’s been long enough that he’s starting to wonder if that’s true. He doesn’t think they’re _not_ looking- he can’t imagine them not looking- but as wonderful and talented as they all are, they’re still just people. There’s always the possibility that they tried and failed. From everything Molly’s seen since being taken, these people are professionals. This is what they _do_. Who are the Mighty Nein when compared to people like this?

The day Molly loses his temper isn’t that different than any of the other days he’s had recently. The food isn’t any worse than usual, Carum isn’t any crueler than usual, nothing is really _different_ , but for some reason, Molly’s just had _enough_.

They’re not even midway through the day yet and Molly’s once again stood in the middle of the room, wrists cuffed behind him. Carum has been walking around him and working him over with fists and feet; he’s knocked Molly down a number of times already, each time ordering Molly back up. It’s difficult with his hands restrained, but he’s managed it each time so far. This isn’t the worst thing Carum has done to him. This isn’t even the worst thing Carum has done to him this _week_ , but Carum has been working on getting Molly to keep his head and eyes down, to be deferential, and for whatever reason, that’s what sets Molly off.

Carum knocks him to the floor again, and orders him up. Molly’s already rolled stiffly to his knees, and when he glances up, Carum gives him that infuriating smile, says, ‘ _Eyes down, pet, what have I told you?_ ’, and Molly’s control snaps. With a snarl, Molly gets his feet under himself and _launches_ at Carum, clearly taking the other man by surprise. He hits Carum at waist height and it’s only the fact the other man is surprised that has Molly knocking him back and onto the floor, Molly sprawled haphazardly on top of him. The moment Molly makes contact with Carum the pain in his head explodes, and when it clears he’s on the floor on his belly, Carum pinning him there with a knee that digs painfully between Molly’s shoulder blades.

“Well that was a stupid thing to do, wasn’t it, pet?”

It was, but that does nothing to diminish the flare of rage that’s burning through Molly now. All the pain and indignity, humiliation and helplessness coalesce into incandescent fury and he bucks, trying to throw Carum off him, snarling and growling. Carum, for his part, just leans more of his weight down and easily holds Molly in place.

“This is a very poor display. I thought we’d trained you better than this by now. If you don’t calm yourself, you will regret it.”

Between the lack of proper nutrition and the beating he’s already taken today, Molly knows he’s no match, but he can’t stop, can’t stem the flow of anger and impotent rage that’s coursing through him, and he wonders if this is how Yasha feels when she rages. The sudden pang of longing for his friend only fuels him.

There’s a put-upon sigh from above him, and Carum whistles sharply, calling for assistance. Molly’s still fighting, twisting as much as he’s able and hissing, tail lashing, when two helpers arrive.

“Pin him. Make sure you hold him well, he’s going to be a handful in a moment.”

One of the men leans all his weight on Molly’s upper body, the other sits on his legs, and he’s still trying to wriggle loose when Carum catches hold of Molly’s tail in both hands, and Molly freezes, going dead still.

“Ah, _that_ got your attention, didn’t it?”

All the anger he’d felt just a second ago drains rapidly, quickly overcome by rising panic. He’s been here before, he’s _done_ this before, and it was some of the worst pain he’s ever experienced. It’s not something he’s keen on repeating.

“I think this will need to be a two-part lesson. I want to be _very_ certain that it sticks in your mind. Your behavior just now was unacceptable, and you should know better.” Carum’s tone of voice isn’t angry; he’s speaking as if he’s _disappointed_ , like Molly’s let him down somehow, and Molly can’t begin to fathom how the man reconciles what he does on a day-to-day basis.

“You act as if this isn’t what your life is. I think it’s time you learn your place, once and for all. I’m going to be breaking your tail in a moment.” Carum idly rubs a thumb over the appendage, and Molly can’t help but shudder. “It’s going to be very painful, which I think you know. Then these nice gentlemen will escort you somewhere that you can really take some time to think about your behavior and reflect on how you might behave more acceptably in the future. In a few days we’ll see if your disposition has improved any.” There’s a brief pause as Carum’s hands shift on Molly’s tail, then, “Brace him.”

The men holding him down shift minutely, steadying themselves, and Molly’s skin flashes cold with dread, mixed with helpless resignation. It’s happening, happening _again_ , and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

Carum jerks his hands down and away from each other, and Molly doesn’t hear the _snap_ over the sound of his scream. It’s just as bad as he remembers, the agony shooting both ways up and down his tail, near-incomprehensible in its intensity. He’s not fighting anymore, can’t do anything but writhe against the stone and cry.

And then Carum shifts his hands further down, and does it again.

By the time Carum is finished, Molly’s lost track of how many breaks there are. When Carum starts to manipulate Molly’s tail into a loose knot, Molly can’t help but beg him to stop, and even gets through most of a sentence before the trigger in his head knocks him out. He wakes back up to blinding agony, choking on a scream almost as soon as he’s conscious. He’s not being held down anymore, but he can’t think past the pain. He barely notices when they grab his arms and haul him up to drag him from the room.

He’s pulled down a hallway, full of doors with no openings, no barred portals like in the holding cells. He’s brought to one, and they pause just long enough to uncuff his hands before they open the door and throw him in. He’s barely hit the floor before the door closes behind him, sealing him in darkness.

The next span of time is a blur.

He can barely move, doesn’t want to try to stand. So much of his sense of balance is tied to his tail, to its unconscious movements, that it takes an effort for it _not_ to move; it’s exhausting when he manages and agonizing when he doesn’t.

He’s so consumed by the pain for the first few hours that the dark and quiet don’t immediately register. It’s not until after he passes out and wakes back up to almost complete darkness that it hits him. He strains his ears, listening for something, _anything_ that tells him there are people nearby, that he’s not completely alone, but there’s nothing. No drips of water, no rustling of mice, no murmurs or screams. The only sound is the strained rasp of his own breathing and the thunderous thump of his heart, echoed in the throbbing mass of pain that is his tail.

He tells himself they won’t leave him here.

He tells himself they’ve invested too much time and effort into him to just forget about him, leave him here to waste away and die, alone, in the dark.

But those are rational thoughts, and his terror isn’t rational.

He drags himself painstakingly to the door and claws at it until his talons break, screams himself hoarse, begs them to let him out. There comes a point where his begging retriggers the pain in his head, and he passes out. He wakes again to darkness, with no sense of how long it’s been, and tries prying at the edges of the door where he can feel the faintest break between the door and the wall, but there’s no give and the only thing he gets for his efforts are bloodied fingertips; the door’s been fitted well enough that there’s only the tiniest hint of light coming from underneath, barely enough to be able to discern the bottom edges of the door.

He yells and screams until he can’t anymore, fighting past the nausea the pain of pushing himself up to his knees causes and pounds on the door until his hands are bruised and tender, but nobody comes.

He starts losing time, sees flashes out of the corner of his eye, feels someone staring at him from a point he can’t see; he shoves himself to a corner, the better to protect himself.

He tries to fix his tail just once, but it’s too painful to touch. He’s thankful he can’t see it.

When they open the door to the cell two days later, Molly hides his face behind his arms, the torchlight blinding and painful. He doesn’t move, doesn’t resist when they grab his arms and pull him out. He’s dizzy and weak from thirst, from hunger and pain, and he has to close his eyes on the trip back to his cell. They cuff his hands and hold him still while Zerani works to fix his tail. He gratefully passes out as she’s untangling it, and when he wakes up he’s alone, tail whole, though tender. It aches in a way it never has before, in a way it didn’t the last time it was broken and healed, and he wonders if that’s permanent now. He crawls the few inches needed to reach the bowls of water and stew near his head, and carefully eats and drinks before falling into an exhausted sleep.

He’s brought back to the workroom the next day, and when Carum lays eyes on him, his whole face lights up.

“Ah. Finally.”

There’s a shift in how the days go. Carum still hurts him, but he’s focusing more on form and deportment now than he was before, honing, molding Molly into a more pleasing shape, instructing him to curl his shoulders forward, tilt his head just so, eyes lowered.

Molly follows the instructions without a fuss.

Despite his inclination to actively resist everything Carum has ever instructed him to do, he did in fact have time to think while locked away in the darkness.

He’s tired. He’s _so_ tired. Tired of hurting all the time, tired of being scared, living in dread of what new horrors each day will bring with nothing at the end to show for it. He’s taken a good hard look at what his expectations are, on what will happen if he keeps resisting and what will happen if he stops. If he keeps fighting, keeps stubbornly pushing back, he imagines he’ll have a few more experiences like the one he just came out of, and eventually, whether intentional or not, it will kill him. If he gives in, if he stops fighting and accepts his situation, he’ll live enslaved for the rest of his life, locked away in some man’s home as a pet, a decorative set piece.

He’s sure by now that the Mighty Nein aren’t coming for him. He’s held out hope as long as he reasonably could, for as long as was _useful_ , but he’s realized that the hope that had initially buoyed him is now only raising him up to drop him from a height, to dash him against the rocks below. He takes the memories of his friends- Nott’s bravery, Jester’s enthusiasm, Fjord’s warm friendship, Yasha’s steadfastness, Beau’s loyalty- and shoves them down deep.

He takes his memories of Caleb- shy smiles, sleep-matted hair and forehead kisses, the scent of woodsmoke and the gentle rumble of a purring cat- and locks them away where they can’t hurt him. He doesn’t want to die lost and forgotten in a slaver’s compound where nobody knows his name.

The next time he’s brought to the workroom he drops unprompted to his knees, eyes and head lowered, hands loose in his lap, and there’s a soft intake of breath.

“ _Well_.” There’s footsteps, and when a finger lights under Molly’s chin and tilts his head up, he moves with it easily, keeping his gaze lowered. Carum hums, and suddenly brings his hand back as if to strike, but Molly just closes his eyes and waits for the impact. Nothing happens, and at Carum’s quiet chuckle Molly opens his eyes again, but doesn’t look up. “I’ll be damned, I think you’re ready.”

~~~

The next week or so is a flurry of activity.

When Molly is returned to his cell, there’s a threadbare blanket and a flat, lumpy-looking pillow on the floor near the wall, waiting with his bowls of food and water. The guards nudge him into the cell without restraining him before shutting the door, and he stands there in a moment of stunned silence before moving to the far wall where he normally lies, sitting on the blanket, tears streaming down his face as he eats.

The next day Carum trims his hair. It’s gotten longer since he’s been here, shaggier than he normally keeps it, and by the time Carum is done with a small pair of shears, Molly’s hair curls gently at the nape of his neck, the sides falling over the points of his ears. Carum brushes some of the hair clippings off Molly’s shoulder, and Molly does his best to hold back the shudder that wants to work through him.

Carum lays Molly out on the table, strapping him down; as Carum finishes tightening the last cuff at Molly's wrist, Zerani enters the room, and Molly tenses.

“I heard you were ready for me.”

“Yes. It's time to figure out our plan for the scarring.”

Molly does his best to tune out their conversation. He knows the process they'll be using, more or less; he doesn't want to know more than that, figures he'll be experiencing it soon enough.

Before the day is out there’s a new swath of smooth skin along the left side of his chest, and he runs his fingertips over it that night in his cell, trailing up and down. He’d had some scarring when he woke up two years prior, but a lot of the scars he has now are his, with memories attached to them. There’s a curl of anger in his gut that these people are taking even _this_ from him, but it subsides quickly enough. He’s made his decision; anger would be fruitless at this point.

The next few days entail long hours strapped to the table with Carum and Zerani bent over him working as he screams and bleeds. By the end of the week they’ve removed as much scarring as they’re willing to, not wanting to encroach into the tattoos, and Carum looks Molly over critically, like an artist checking their work while Molly stands, awaiting judgement. Carum reaches up and flips a lock of Molly’s hair back away from his face to fall behind his horn, and smiles proudly.

“My work here is done. Sleep well, pet. Tomorrow you start your new life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-Specific Tags/Warnings:  
> -painful healing  
> -humiliation/debasement  
> -torture  
> -tail trauma  
> -isolation/solitary confinement  
> -panic attacks  
> -sensory deprivation  
> -hallucinations  
> -psychological trauma  
> -non-consensual body modification


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning is surreal.

They wake him up and walk him to a set of baths he didn’t know were on the premises. Up until now they’ve been throwing castings of Prestidigitation at him with an occasional wet cloth when that wasn’t quite enough. Now, he’s led into a room damp with steam, and ushered into a deep-set tub that’s brimming with hot water. He can’t remember the last time he took a bath, and he hates how grateful he is for the chance to. The attendant makes sure he scrubs all over until his skin is soft and flushed, and once dry they dab him with scented oils, buffing him with a shimmery powder until he glows. He’s dressed in nearly-transparent silk that drapes and clings like spider web; it’s the first clothing he’s worn since his own was taken from him at arrival; as much as he’s been wanting clothing, if for no other reason than to ward off the persistent chill of the cells, the silk feels wrong against his skin, light and flimsy yet heavy with implication. Jewelry is set into the piercings in his horns and ears, bejeweled caps set on the tips of his horns while hammered metal bands get fitted around his tail, just beneath the spade, the weight making it ache. They give him plain sandals to wear- ‘ _Just until we get you packed up. Don’t want you getting your feet dirty_.’- and he nearly bursts into hysterical laughter. Everything that’s been done to him since they took him, and they’re worried about dirty feet.

They lead him up a staircase and in the alcove at the landing is a decorated cage with handles built into the top for carrying. Carum is there waiting with a smile on his face, tail flicking delightedly behind him.

“Oh look at you, aren’t you magnificent.” He steps forward and takes Molly’s chin, lifting it to get a better look, and Molly keeps his eyes down; it’s not worth it in his last moments here to antagonize anyone.

“Wonderful.” Carum murmurs, patting his cheek. He reaches up and fastens something cold and metal around Molly’s throat that closes with a click- ‘ _collar_ ’, Molly’s mind provides with a shiver- then gestures toward the cage. “This way, then.”

There’s a cushion inside, also silk, and he’s instructed to kneel on it after removing the sandals, facing the cage door. Molly gets situated, curling his tail around his knees and someone on the other side of the cage reaches through the bars and binds his hands in place behind him with soft rope, wrist-to-elbow.

“Almost-” Molly gets one last look at Carum before a silk blindfold is tied around his head, and he hears the door to the cage close and the bolt slide into place.

There’s the sound and light vibration of someone slapping the top of the cage. “Alright, boys. Off you go. Client’s waiting.”

With that the cage lifts and Molly tenses, struggling to maintain balance without use of his arms. His tail presses to the side of the cage with a twinge, helping to stabilize him, and he’s thankful when the cage thuds onto the cart that will carry him away to his new master. He shudders at the thought; he _hates_ that word. He doesn’t know that he’ll have to say it, since he can’t speak, but for all he knows his owner may demand he say it just to watch him suffer the effects of disobedience. He doesn’t know anything about the man that’s bought him; people treat their pets all sorts of ways, and not always kindly. Just because he’s sentient doesn’t mean he’ll be afforded any gentleness. The sort of man who would pay to have someone abducted off the street and trained so they can have company probably isn’t too concerned with compassion or ethical treatment.

The faint light he sees through the blindfold dims as he hears something thrown over the top of the cage; he’s reminded of his trip here, what now feels like a lifetime ago. A few seconds later there’s the muted snap of reins, a yell, and the cart jolts forward, carrying him away.

He loses track of time; all he has to connect to the outside world is the steady clip-clop of the horses and the quiet creak of the cart wheels as they roll onward. A few hours in, someone comes back to give him a few sips of water, but they don’t talk to him. He’d give almost anything for _something_ , any sort of reassurance that things will be okay, but that’s not how this works. He’s not a person anymore- he’s a thing, a possession, and _things_ don’t necessitate comfort or empathy. More time passes and he’s starting to slip into a doze when a call goes up and the cart lurches to a stop. The parallel to when he was first taken doesn’t pass unnoticed.

There’s the sound of a gate opening and then the cart’s moving again. It pulls to a gentle stop, and the cage jostles as it’s carefully removed from the cart bed. It’s a struggle not to panic, to stuff down the overwhelming desire to scream and yell and throw himself bodily at the bars. Molly’s known for weeks now what the end result of this whole fucking mess would be, knew that eventually, if he didn’t wind up dead, that he’d end up here. But knowing that and **_knowing_ **that are two very different things. He counts breaths in his head, digs the tips of his claws into his palms, and wills himself still; he can’t stop the hammering of his heart in his chest or the quiet tears soaking into the blindfold, but hopefully they won’t hold the ruined silk against him.

The cage rocks gently as they ascend a small set of steps, and there’s the echo of booted feet on stone as they carry him inside. A few moments that feel like an eternity and also lightening quick go by, and then they’re setting the cage down with a soft thump. There’s a quiet murmur of voices, then one raises slightly with an edge of easy command to it, the voice of someone who expects to be obeyed.

“Take them out, please, I’m sure you don’t expect me to take my goods sight unseen.”

Molly shivers at the coldness of tone, the utter lack of warmth, and his heart sinks. If he didn’t know better, Molly would think the man was speaking about delivery of a vase or paperweight.

The cloth over the cage is removed, and Molly keeps his head tilted downward, doing his best to appear docile and non-threatening. Someone raps against the top of the cage, startling him, as someone else unlocks and swings open the door to the cage. “C’mon then.”

He still doesn’t have his hands, but hesitation is unacceptable. Molly carefully shuffles forward on his knees, rough hands grasping his upper arms to pull him the rest of the way out. He lands on what feels like a thick rug, and settles back on his heels, tucking his tail close, waiting.

He jumps at the touch of fingers on his head, tugging at the blindfold, but a sharply-worded ‘ _Be still_.’ from one of his handlers keeps him from doing anything else. The blindfold is lifted off, but he makes sure to keep his gaze lowered, his shoulders curved in; nothing to suggest defiance, nothing to suggest there’s any fight left in him. Maybe if he stays quiet and keeps his head down-

Fingers grab his chin, tilting his face up to the light, and he moves with it, still refusing to raise his eyes. Molly’s chin is released as the man gives a considering hum and runs a fingertip over an inked feather; Molly barely holds back a shudder of revulsion.

“Excellent work, gentlemen, thank you. Here is the remainder of your payment. I’ll contact you if I have further need of your services.” There’s the jingle of coin changing hands, then the men take up the now-empty cage and exit, leaving Molly alone for the first time with his new owner.

He’s shaking and can’t stop. The room is too cool for the thin silk he’s wearing, the fireplace nearby not enough to counter both the chill and his nerves. The anticipation twists his stomach into knots as he waits to find out what will happen next, what’s to become of him. He doesn’t dare make the first move, doesn’t dare step out of line so early in, especially when he doesn’t know what’s expected of him.

There’s another touch to his face, a knuckle grazing lightly over his cheekbone, and it’s tentative, gentle- a far cry from the possessive grip the man had used earlier. Molly closes his eyes, fighting back tears again.

 

“...Molly?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:  
> -restraints  
> -cages  
> -collars  
> -forced subservience  
> -slavery


	5. Chapter 5

It isn’t real.

It _can’t_ be real. After everything he’s finally snapped, finally broken, started hallucinating. If he can sink into a pretty fantasy, all the better; maybe he can try to be happy.

“Molly, _bitte_ , please, look at me?”

He gathers himself and opens his eyes, blinks the tears away, and looks up. A man stares back, looking intensely concerned for someone Molly’s never seen before. The man starts to reach out then stops when he sees Molly flinch. “Oh, _ja_ , hold on.” He makes a dismissive gesture and suddenly it’s...it’s…

It’s _Caleb_ , right there kneeling on the ground on front of him in clothes that aren’t his, and it _looks_ like him, and it _sounds_ like him, but Molly doesn’t understand what’s happening and can’t ask, and still doesn’t believe it’s _real_.

Molly stares at him, at a complete loss; in all his imaginings, in all the ways he thought today might go, this hadn’t crossed his mind even once. He’s never let himself hope for this as a possible outcome; that sort of hope is too dangerous, too crushing. It isn’t the sort of hope he can survive having dashed.

Caleb’s looking more and more concerned by the moment, and reaches out again hesitantly to touch Molly on the shoulder. His hand is warm and solid through the thin silk of Molly’s shirt- warm and solid and _real_.

This is real. Caleb is here, with him. He still has no idea what’s going on, where everyone else is, but the overwhelming realization that it’s _over_ , that he’s _free_ , is enough to send Molly into hysterics, curling forward to fold over his knees, gasping for breath between quiet sobs. Caleb mutters a curse and wraps his arms around Molly, pulling him close. It’s all Molly’s wanted since he was taken, it’s what he’s yearned for, thought about on the worst days in the darkness when there was no light and no sound. He’s _dreamt_ of it-

-and he still freezes.

He feels the arms come around him and squeeze, and it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him with affection, with anything other than the intent to hurt him in some way that he can’t help going utterly still, rigid, waiting for the pain to start.

Caleb pulls away immediately and it only makes Molly cry harder. He _wants_ this, he wants it so badly, and can’t even try to explain. He fights the ropes on his arms, desperately wanting his hands free, and cries in wordless frustration when they hold.

“Oh _schatz_.” Caleb sounds wounded, tears glistening in his eyes as well. “Please, may I help you?”  He reaches a hand out again, but doesn’t touch yet, waiting for permission.

Molly nods, and Caleb moves closer, tapping his fingers on the ropes with a muttered word. The ropes slither off and Molly’s arms drop to his sides, partially numb and heavy after hours of being bound in one position. Caleb helps him move his arms forward so he can rest his hands on his thighs, and Caleb starts massaging Molly’s hands and wrists, trying to get the blood flowing again.

It takes a while, but eventually Molly’s sobs slow to hitching breaths, and he wipes at his face with the discarded blindfold that Caleb hands him.

“ _Schatz_ , are you alright? You’re not injured, are you? You’re not hurt anywhere?”

Molly gives a watery laugh and shakes his head, reaching out with a trembling hand to pat Caleb’s knee. He feels Caleb go still, and when he looks up Caleb’s expression has turned scrutinizing, getting the little furrow between his brows he has when he’s trying to puzzle something out.

“ _Liebling._ ” Caleb reaches a hand up to cup Molly’s jaw, sweeping a thumb over his face again, and Molly leans into it, eyes sliding shut. “Molly, you are very quiet.”

Molly nods, face pinching as he tries not to cry again. He gets himself under control, and when he glances up Caleb is watching him, face clouded with concern. Molly pats at his throat, then shakes his head.

“You can’t speak?”

Molly taps himself on the nose, then grips his head with both hands and makes a pained face before looking at Caleb again, who’s clearly still trying to parse what Molly means. Molly looks down and catches sight of his tail, the heavy metal bands still adorning it, and he grabs it, prying the bands off and hurling them across the room. The clatter startles Caleb, but Molly hardly notices as he proceeds to strip off every piece of jewelry he can, throwing the piercings in one direction and the horn caps in another. He tries to get the collar off and fails, clawing and pulling at it in frustration before Caleb’s hands find his, gently pulling them away with quiet words of comfort.

“I’ll get it off, just a moment, _schatz_.” He mutters a word, taps the collar, and it clicks open. Molly throws that as well, and the noise it makes as it bounces off the corner of the fireplace is intensely satisfying.

Now that all the jewelry is off, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s shaking again, or maybe still, and it’s all so _much_. He hadn’t dared hope for rescue, had largely resigned himself to never seeing his friends again, never seeing _Caleb_ again. The realization that he’d given up, that he’d given in to despair hurts in a way he can’t define.

“Molly.” Caleb’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and it’s so _warm_ ; Caleb hisses something under his breath, then moves to stand before holding his hands out to Molly. “Come, let’s get you somewhere warmer and we will figure things out.”

They end up in the kitchen, the overcoat Caleb was wearing draped around Molly’s shoulders as Caleb putters, pulling together a small plate of cold meat and cheese. Now that the adrenaline of the day is fading, Molly’s exhausted, but he’s also starving, and he quickly devours what’s on the plate. The whole time, Caleb watches him, a sad smile on his face. When Molly quirks a brow at him in question, Caleb looks him over again before answering.

“You look-” He struggles with words for a moment before trying again. “I keep getting the inclination to push food at you, and realize this must be what it was like for you and Nott when you first met me.”

Molly huffs a laugh, and nods. When they’d first met, Caleb had been so thin Molly had worried a stiff breeze would knock him over. Now their roles are reversed; Caleb’s healthy-looking as Molly can remember, but he knows he doesn’t look that great himself. Carum had always made sure Molly had enough to subsist on, but never enough to thrive. At the thought of the other man, Molly shivers, pulling the coat closer around himself.

“We will help get you well again, _schatz_ , I promise. I will make sure Jester doesn’t try to stuff you with pastries, though.”

That gets a smile out of Molly, and an answering one from Caleb.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but earlier, you indicated your head hurt when you tried to speak. Is that right?”

Ah yes, they still have to figure that out, don’t they. He nods, raising his hands to mime something driving into the side of his head. Caleb tilts his head in thought. “Does that happen every time?”

Molly shakes his head, holds up one finger, and sweeps his hand up and over, like the sun setting.

“Once per day?”

Molly smiles, nodding again. He’s never been so glad for Caleb being quick on the uptake.

“Hmm. That sounds familiar. Is it alright if I try something, _schatz_? It won’t hurt you, but should give me a better idea what’s going on.”

He nods again, giving permission, and when Caleb looks up from getting out his supplies from his pouch, Molly puts a hand on Caleb’s arm, stopping him a moment. Once he has the wizard’s attention, he gestures around at the empty kitchen, the quiet house, and raises his brows in question.

“Oh, _ja_ , the others. They are well. Or were, anyway. They have followed the men who brought you here, to find the location of where you were being kept, and to deal with those responsible.”

Like a switch being flipped, Molly feels his world darken and close on him. The others, his friends, were going to- they were going to-

He doesn’t realize his breathing has gone ragged and raspy until Caleb sets his components on the nearby table and firmly grasps at Molly’s upper arms, the grip solid and grounding. “Mollymauk, if you can hear me, I need you to breath. There’s no reason to panic, they will be fine. They have help, and those people must be stopped.”

Molly’s shaking his head, a quiet whine of distress the only sound he allows himself. He wants to tell Caleb how dangerous the slavers are, that their friends need to come back, to stay as far away from that place as they can, but he can’t, he _can’t_ -

Unless.

He braces himself, and opens his mouth.

“Ca-” He doesn’t get farther than that before the familiar explosion goes off behind his eyes, and his knees give way. The only reason he doesn’t fall to the floor like a rag doll is because of Caleb’s hands on him, helping to catch him and ease the way until they’re both sat on the floor, Molly halfway in Caleb’s lap.

“Molly-”

“Caleb, _please_.” His voice is rusty, rough after so long of not being used. “Please, you have to call them back, _you have to call them back_ , don’t let them go-”

“Shhh, _schatz_ , it’s okay, they’ll be alright.” Caleb pulls him close, rubbing a hand up and down Molly’s spine, and Molly desperately wants to believe him, to relax into the contact, but he can’t. In his mind, he sees exactly what awaits his friends, what will happen if they fail. He imagines them in chains, screaming, broken and bloody, Carum and the Zerani smiling over them. The rush of terror that comes with those images is suffocating. He can hear Caleb begging him to breath, telling him it will be alright, but how can it possibly be alright?

He knows, intimately, what those people are capable of, of what they’re willing to do to people who can’t fight back. What more might they do to those they consider an actual threat? He doesn’t notice he’s crying again until Caleb reaches up to wipe the tears away, cradling Molly’s face in his hands and leaning in to kiss his forehead.

“ _Schatz_ , it will be okay. As I said, they have help. You will meet Caduceus when they return. I think you will like him.”

Caleb keeps talking, voice calm and soothing, and eventually Molly’s energy reserves run out and he slumps against Caleb’s chest. He still feels strung out, tense, but doesn’t have the energy to maintain his panic about what’s happening to his friends.

Caleb kisses his temple, then starts to untangle himself from Molly. “If you’re still amenable, I can see what has been done so we are better able to deal with it when the others return, and then we will get you cleaned up, and into bed. You look like you could use some rest, _ja_?”

Molly nods and stands, holding onto the table next to him for balance while Caleb picks up his components again, a feather and a pearl. Caleb holds a component in each hand, moving them in an intricate pattern in front of himself, before whispering, _‘Identifizieren._ ’

There’s a small burst of light, and for a brief second Caleb’s eyes flash a more luminescent blue before returning to normal. He lowers his hands, his expression turning stricken as he processes what he’s learned.

“Oh, _liebling-_ ” Caleb breathes. “I cannot fix it right now, but I believe either Jester or Mr. Clay should be able to help when they return.”

Molly nods his understanding, and watches as Caleb puts his components away. He can talk for now, but he’s so used to being silent, to the consequences of failure that he can’t bring himself to. Caleb moves next to him, sliding an arm around his waist, and hugging him close for a moment before they make their way out of the kitchen and up a grand-looking staircase to the second level of the household. Caleb leads him to a room partway down the hall that opens into what looks like a room from a bathhouse- the tiled floor is pleasantly warm beneath Molly’s feet, and he marvels at the large inset tub further into the room. He can’t begin to fathom how the tub of water will heat, but he’s so used to cold water or nothing at this point he doesn’t care much so long as he’s clean.

Caleb walks further into the room and kneels by a large golden pipe that comes up out of the floor and opens over the side of the tub, speaking a word while touching his fingertips to the pipe. After a second, water rushes out, and Molly’s eyes widen. Caleb catches his expression and smiles.

“It’s enchanted. It creates and heats the water, and the tub is spelled to keep the water warm.”

Caleb moves around the room with the ease of practice, collecting items from shelves, and Molly wonders for the first time how long the group has been here, and what happened to the original owner. He starts to disrobe, tugging the silk tunic off over his head, and moves for the tie of the loose silk pants when Caleb clears his throat from near the tub. When Molly looks up, it’s to see a pile of fluffy-looking towels at the edge of the rapidly filling tub, and a basket of small bars and bottles. Caleb is standing next to it, his gaze on Molly, like he’s cataloging him, looking for anything new or out of place. He meets Molly’s eyes and for a moment they both just look at each other. For Molly, it’s like seeing Caleb again for the first time. He’s not sure how long it’s been since the day he was taken- weeks, he knows, but more likely months- and he’d been so sure he would never see any of them again; to see Caleb now, to know he’s here, and not just in his imagination, is almost too overwhelming for him to handle.

“Mollymauk.” Caleb’s voice is quiet, barely discernible over the rush of water and Molly feels tears prick at his eyes again. “Do you want me to stay, or would you prefer I go?”

Molly’s moving before he realizes it, and almost knocks Caleb into the tub when he reaches him, winding his arms around Caleb’s waist and pulling him close. He gives a squeeze and nuzzles at Caleb’s chest, letting the familiar scent of ash and wood smoke calm him even as Caleb’s hands come up to rub warm and firm along Molly’s back. “It’s okay, _schatz_ , I will stay.”

They stay close for another moment before separating so they can undress. It doesn’t take Molly long to finish, only wearing the silk pants, and he tosses them aside to join the tunic top. He kicks at them, knowing it’s childish, but it makes him feel better. When he turns back to Caleb, it’s to find him stripped down as well and offering him a hand to help him into the tub.

“Let me take care of you, _schatz_?”

Molly hesitates; he doesn’t mean to, but Caleb isn’t deterred, waiting patiently. Molly finally nods, taking Caleb’s hand and slips carefully into the water. It’s deliciously hot, and he can already feel it starting to melt away some of the tension he’s carrying and easing the persistent ache in his tail. He doesn’t think this bath will be a cure-all, but it’s definitely helping already. He senses movement, and when he turns his head to look, it’s to see Caleb sliding into the water next to him, his skin already starting to flush from the heat.

“Is there anywhere you do not want me to touch you?”

Molly wants to say no, that everything is fair game. He wants things to be the same as they were before, the same as they were before he was taken, but he knows it’s not, and he doesn’t want to set Caleb up to stumble upon all the new ways in which he’s fucked up.

So he nods, gesturing to his tail where it’s curled up by his stomach, close and more easily protected.

“Alright. Anywhere else?”

Molly shakes his head, and Caleb takes up a washcloth from the edge of the tub, dunks it, and begins the process of wetting Molly down. The shimmer powder that had been dusted onto his skin earlier in the day starts to come off, creating glittering swirls in the water, and Molly watches it move in near-fascination. He drifts under the steady press and swipe of the cloth, his eyes falling shut as Caleb works.

His eyes fly open a moment later when Caleb swipes the cloth over the back of his neck, and Molly needs to see, needs to know it’s Caleb touching him, needs to know that he’s safe. Caleb pauses in his ministrations, catching Molly’s eye.

“This is still alright, _liebling_?”

It takes a second for Molly’s pulse to settle, but he nods, reaching for Caleb’s forearm and giving it a squeeze of encouragement to continue.

Caleb pauses at his chest, and Molly knows what he must be seeing- or rather, what he’s _not_ seeing. Molly tenses, and lets out a breath when Caleb wordlessly continues on.

Eventually Caleb gets most the shimmer powder off, letting Molly get the last bit on his tail himself. With quiet murmurs, Caleb guides Molly forward toward the center of the tub so he can tilt his head back and use a small bowl to sluice water over Molly’s hair, wetting it. Caleb pours something from one of the small bottles in the basket into his hands, and the scent of lavender hits the air; gods, he’s missed that scent so much, he’d almost forgotten it. Caleb is kind enough not to mention the tears once again rolling down Molly’s face as he works the mixture into Molly’s hair, instead murmuring nonsense in Zemnian in a comforting running patter.

Caleb has Molly tilt his head back again and carefully rinses the suds from plum-colored curls. The scent of lavender clings after, and Molly uses that to remind himself that he’s no longer at Carum’s mercy, at the mercy of those who would harm him. There had been no lavender in the cells, nothing that sweet-smelling in amongst the cold and damp, nothing so pleasant when he was in the dark, alone and screaming-

“Molly.” Caleb catches his attention with a light touch to his arm, and Molly startles back to the present, blinking the memories away before offering Caleb a tremulous smile. Caleb’s returning smile is small but genuine. “There you are, _schatz_. Let’s get you dried off and into bed, _ja_?”

A bed...it’s been ages since he’s slept in a bed. He thinks back to the day he was taken, remembers leaving Caleb in their bed at the inn, the warm sunlight filtering in to light up Caleb’s hair in shades of spun copper, and his smile grows more solid, more sure as he nods and follows Caleb up and out of the tub.

The towels might be the softest Molly has ever felt, and he wonders at them as Caleb uses one to pat over his skin, getting him dry before wrapping him in another large towel. Caleb dries himself off much more quickly before wrapping himself in a towel as well, and leads them back out into the hallway and down a few doors to a new room.

The room Caleb brings him into is incredibly lavish. The carpeting under their feet is plush and thick, keeping the chill of the floors easily at bay. The paneling on the walls is a rich dark wood, with the furniture stained to match. Against the far wall is one of the biggest beds Molly’s ever had the privilege to lay eyes on, piled with fluffy-looking pillows and a large down-stuffed comforter. The whole thing looks like it’s made of clouds, and though he’s reasonably certain by now that this is all real, on some level he doesn’t quite believe it, worries that if he touches the bed it will melt away like spun sugar in water.

Caleb takes his hand and pulls him forward, then pauses, head tilting. “Do you want something to sleep in? I was going to get something for myself, but I can get something for you as well.”

Before, he’d loved the feel of sheets against his skin, of _Caleb_ against his skin. He’s tactile by nature, and loves feeling every last texture. It’s been so long since he’s had a _choice_ , since it’s been up to him whether he wanted to wear something or not, that the decision to wear something now is as much a novelty as not. He nods, and Caleb smiles at him before turning toward a chest of drawers, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of getting to see that smile.

Caleb returns with two fine linen night shirts, handing one to Molly and keeping one for himself. Molly pulls his carefully over his horns and lets it fall, whispering over his skin, soft and ethereal. It’s too big on him by far, and he smiles to see Caleb is in the same predicament, his sliding off one pale, freckled shoulder.They smile at each other, and Caleb moves to the bed to pull the bedding down, removing some of the pillows so they’re not overtaking half the bed. He steps back and gestures for Molly to climb in; Molly doesn’t cry again as he crawls up onto the mattress, but it’s a near thing. The mattress is just as soft as he’d expected, and he laughs delightedly as it gives under his weight, sending him tumbling forward into the mound of pillows. It’s so different than the cold stone he’s grown used to, and he pokes the pillows that surround him and nestles down into the mattress as Caleb finishes readying for sleep. Soon enough Caleb is climbing in on the other side, flipping the weight of the comforter back into place over them both. One of Caleb’s lights floats gently above them, illuminating the soft shine of Caleb’s hair and eyes, and Molly curls on his side facing him, drinking him in, to stamp the picture of Caleb like this in his memory.

This is real.

He’s really here, with Caleb, in a ridiculously large bed, freshly bathed and clothed and _free_.

Caleb gently takes Molly’s hand in his, twining their fingers together, and Molly drifts to sleep with the sound of Caleb’s breath as a lullaby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:  
> -aftermath of captivity  
> -aftermath of starvation/deprivation  
> -panic attack  
> -bathing  
> -dissociation
> 
>  
> 
>  _schatz_ \- treasure  
>  _liebling_ \- darling  
>  _Identifizieren_ \- identify
> 
>  **Author's Note** : When I first wrote this chapter, the point in-game where Caleb is discovered to be terrible at accents hadn't happened yet. I'm going on the assumption with this version of Caleb that he doesn't have that issue.


	6. Chapter 6

Sleep takes Molly fast, but doesn’t keep him long.

He startles awake, not knowing where he is; it’s dark, though the light coming in through the window is enough to illuminate the room for him. The bed under him is soft, but it doesn’t feel right. He glances over and sees Caleb, still asleep next to him. It helps to see him there, and Molly lies back down and drifts off again.

He keeps waking up, every time taking a moment to figure out where he is, why he’s warm, why things are soft and gentle.

He wakes from a nightmare he can’t quite remember, the echoes of Carum’s voice in his mind, and he sits up cross-legged, resting his head in his hands, trying to get his breathing under control.

“Molly?”

Caleb’s voice is sleep-rough and quiet, and when Molly looks over he’s propped himself up on an elbow and is looking in Molly’s direction with concern. “ _Schatz_ , are you alright?”

Molly shakes his head, then realizes Caleb probably can’t see it and finds Caleb’s hand where it’s tucked under a pillow, giving it a squeeze. Caleb’s quiet a moment longer before pulling his hand from Molly’s grasp and snapping his fingers. There’s a soft _pop,_ and suddenly Molly has a lap full of purring, affectionate cat.

“He’s missed you, you know.”

Molly curls forward over Frumpkin, burying his fingers and face in the soft fur as Frumpkin headbutts his arm.

“You may hold on to him for now, if you wish. You know he helps me when I am having a hard time. He might be able to help you as well.”

Molly spends a few minutes petting Frumpkin. It helps to feel the warm weight against him, the purr thrumming through the small body like it might burst. He’s starting to nod off again sitting up when Caleb places a hand on his knee.

“ _Schatz_ , it’s early yet. Why don’t you try to get a bit more sleep, _ja_? Frumpkin will stay with you.”

Molly lifts Frumpkin from his lap and gently sets him aside between himself and Caleb so he can lay back down, pulling the blankets up near to his chin, punching at some of the pillows first so they better accommodate his horns. Once he’s settled, Frumpkin moves in close, tucking himself in against Molly’s chest. The gentle rumbling is soothing, and Molly once again falls asleep.

The last time he wakes it’s to see sunlight glowing against the wood furnishings of the room and to hear Caleb’s voice in a low murmur.

“ _Ja_ , there are some things we will need to deal with when you get back. But he is here and safe. Travel well.”

Molly shifts, and Caleb catches the movement, smiling down at him.

“Good morning. That was Jester. They others are on their way back. It will be a few hours yet, but they are all safe and sound. You will be glad to know they have dispatched the entire group who was manning the compound, and they have freed and helped everyone inside.”

Molly is suddenly very glad he’s already laying down, because he goes dizzy, grasping onto the pillows to ground himself. He feels something soft move at his side and with a quiet _mrrp_ Frumpkin is crowding into his space, pressing his small fuzzy head in under Molly’s chin and licking at his neck with a rasping tongue.

Carum is dead.

The man who’d spent the last however long torturing him and grinding him down until he shattered is dead. He can’t wrap his mind around it, can’t believe it, and the thought that it’s over, that they’re all dead, the other captives at the compound are _free_ , like he is now-

Molly wonders if his reaction to everything from now on is going to be bursting into tears at the slightest provocation. He curls in around Frumpkin, hiding his face in the familiar’s side. He’s distantly aware of Caleb’s fingers tentatively landing in his hair and stroking, becoming firmer and more confident when Molly doesn’t react badly.

Molly cries himself out and when he’s done he collapses back against the pillows, petting Frumpkin and hoping the cat knows how sorry he is for getting him all wet. Frumpkin gives a shiver that makes it all the way to the tip of his tail before relocating further down the bed and starting to clean himself off.

The hand in his hair doesn’t stop moving, petting soothingly. “Are you alright, _schatz_?”

Molly shakes his head, reaching up to wipe the tears from his face. Even if he could speak, he doesn’t think he’d be able to answer that. He feels adrift, unmoored, like Caleb’s hand in his hair is the only thing holding him here. Caleb murmurs to him, in a mix of Common, Zemnian, Celestial, and eventually Molly calms again. For all that he’s just woken up he feels drained, scoured out and exhausted, like he could sleep for a hundred years. But he doesn’t want to sleep, doesn’t want to close his eyes or look away from where he is. He doesn’t want to stop seeing Caleb in front of him, hair messy and fluffy from sleep. Molly reaches for him, tentatively grasping Caleb’s wrist to pull it from his hair and down to his face so he can nuzzle against pen-calloused fingers; Caleb watches him, eyes bright in the early morning sunshine.

“ _Liebling_...” The quiet murmur is a word he’s heard hundreds of times by now from Caleb. It never fails to cause something warm and fizzy to unfurl in his chest. Today, though, it hurts; in the cells, he learned to stuff down memories of his friends, of Caleb, to keep them safe for when he needed them, but more recently so he could start to distance himself. He’d given up on the idea of ever seeing them again, of ever having _this_ again. The memories of what he’d had, of what was taken from him were too much. It was easier to let himself forget, to not think about what he’d lost. With Caleb right in front of him, with the feel of Caleb’s skin against his lips, it all rushes back in, filling him up inside.

He hadn’t realized how empty he’d let himself get.

Minutes pass, and after awhile Caleb shifts, gently pulling his hand back from Molly’s grasp.

“We should get up and find you something to wear. The others will be returning soon, and you should eat something.” Caleb’s hand ghosts over Molly’s side, warm through the thin linen and pressing against the prominence of his ribs as Caleb’s face clouds momentarily. “Mr. Clay will do a much better job at it, but I think I can make a decent start.”

They rise, and after digging around in one of the other rooms on the floor Caleb returns with a loose floor-length robe of finely woven cotton. It’s been dyed a deep burgundy and embroidered with small flowers all over. Caleb shrugs sheepishly at Molly’s inquisitive look.

“Jester has all of your things in her bag. It didn’t occur to us to leave them here for you. Perhaps they will have found your coat for you while they were looting the place.”

It’s like being stabbed through the gut, and Caleb must read something in his expression because his own turns immediately apologetic. “Oh, Molly, your coat. What happened?”

Molly gestures to himself, then sweeps his hands away like taking something off. He points to the fireplace in the room and brings his hands up in front of his chest, spreading his fingers while making a quiet _whoosh_ sound. He still remembers the anger he felt in that moment, the helpless rage, and the bitterness of it is just as fresh now as it was then.

“I know it will not be the same,” Caleb says quietly. “But we will get you a new coat to decorate, _ja_? We will help you with it, if you like.”

Molly nods a bit stiffly, and takes the robe from Caleb’s outstretched hand. It’s the work of a moment to change from the night shirt into the robe, the cotton soft and comfortable against his skin. He’s still examining the embroidered flowers, fingers touching lightly over the designs when Caleb finishes getting dressed himself and clears his throat.

“Shall we, _schatz_?”

Back down in the kitchen, Caleb stokes up the fires, and the room quickly warms. Frumpkin has followed them down and is settled in a small loaf next to the oven, purring contentedly. Caleb sets a kettle on the cook top, and opens a nearby cupboard to pull down a small jar with dried leaves inside, along with two cups from another cupboard. Molly perches on one of the chairs at the table to the side as he had the night before, his tail carefully curled around and settled in his lap. Caleb makes them tea, and the soft smell of jasmine wafts up with the steam from the mugs. While he waits for it to steep, Molly curls over the cup, hands wrapped around it to soak up the warmth, breathing in the floral scent. Caleb is still moving around, pulling more meat and cheese from a box against one wall, and a loaf of bread from another on a nearby counter, bringing everything over to the table and setting it down in front of Molly before sitting with his own tea. They eat quietly, content to be near each other. Molly’s mind is drifting, unable to settle on any one thought, and he finds it easier not to think of anything at all. They finish, and after cleaning up, Caleb leads him to a library. Molly’s never seen so many books in one place before, and he turns wide-eyed to take them all in. Reading isn’t really his thing, but he knows how happy this room must make Caleb, and when he glances over at him sees Caleb, lips tugged up in a faint smile.

“I was thinking, if you wanted, I could read to you while we wait for the others to get here? They shouldn’t be long, now, but it is still better to fill the time, _ja_?”

He’s right. Molly is excited to see the others, he’s missed them terribly, but he’s also nervous. He hasn’t seen them in so long, and now there’s a new person. What if things have changed?

Caleb picks a book from the shelves and beckons Molly to a plush couch in front of the fireplace. With a quiet word and a gesture the logs in the fireplace catch and blaze, the heat immediately beginning to permeate the small reading area. Caleb sits in one of the corners of the couch, and pats the cushion next to him. “Will you join me, Mollymauk?”

He settles on the sofa, laying down so his head is in Caleb’s lap, his legs curled up and his tail close so the loose curve is looped against his chest. If Caleb notices, he doesn’t say anything, just opens the book to the first page and starts reading, a hand coming down to rest lightly on the top of Molly’s head.

The words flow over and through Molly, and he’s not sure what Caleb is actually reading about; he’s not paying close attention. He’s enjoying the sound of Caleb’s voice, the soft tracing of accent over the words, and he’s missed this, missed having Caleb reading softly to him.

He’s almost dozed off again when Caleb’s voice stops in the middle of a sentence.

“ _Ja_ , okay, thank you, Nott.” He closes the book with a quiet thump and sets it aside before looking down at Molly again. “Nott tells me they are here. We should go meet them.”

Molly unfolds himself and stands, and can’t help fidgeting with the cuffs of the robe as he trails Caleb out of the library and back toward the front hall. They’re most of the way there when the front door slams open, startling Molly, and there’s a streak of blue flying toward them.

“ _Molly_!”

He doesn’t even think.

He ducks behind Caleb, shrinking down toward the floor with his arms up to protect his head and tail curled close, pulse racing, and Jester skids to a stop a few feet away, eyes wide and wounded.

There’s a moment of crystalline stillness before it’s broken by the others coming in through the door, calling his and Caleb’s names. Caleb turns to face him, crouching down and shielding him from immediate view. He puts a light hand on Molly’s shoulder, his voice soft as he asks, “Do you want me to take them aside, give you a moment?”

Molly shakes his head, letting his arms fall, and takes Caleb’s hand to stand back up. His hands are shaking, and his legs don’t feel quite steady, but Caleb takes his arm, squeezing it, and it helps.

Jester is still frozen a short distance away, her hands clasped up in front of her chest, her lower lip bitten between her teeth, watching him with sad eyes. “Molly, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He dredges up a small smile for her. It’s not very convincing, based on her responding frown, but it’s as good as he can do in the moment. His heart is settling to a more normal rhythm as each moment passes, and he nods at Caleb. He can do this.

Caleb squeezes his arm once more, and doesn’t let go as he leads them both over toward the group. Molly can feel Jester’s eyes on him as they pass, and he ignores it as best he can.

His throat tightens as they approach the others; they all look more or less how he remembers them, though they’re a little more beat up than the last time he saw them. Nott looks like she’s near vibrating with a desire to dart forward, but is holding herself back. Beau and Fjord are behind her, and Beau is even _smiling_ at him, which is just weird. And behind them is…

Huh.

Molly raises his gaze a few feet above Beau and Fjord’s heads to find one of the tallest beings he’s ever laid eyes on smiling gently back at him.

“Hello there, you must be Mr. Mollymauk.”

The firbolg’s voice is a deep, slow rumble, that oddly seems to fit with the pink hair and soft ears, and Molly feels his shoulders drop a fraction.

“ _Ja_ , this would be the Mr. Clay I spoke of earlier.”

“But you can call me Caduceus if you like. I’m alright with either, really.”

Molly opens his mouth to respond that Caduceus can call him Molly, and then pauses, the familiar tug in his head stopping him before he does anything he’ll regret. He closes his mouth again on a sigh, drooping slightly against Caleb’s side.

“Ah yes, that.” Caleb looks over his shoulder at Jester, then back forward. “Jester, Mr. Clay, I was wondering if we could impose upon you for your expertise.”

“Hmm.” Caduceus blinks slowly, his smile widening. “Why don’t we all go to the kitchen; I’ll make some tea, and we’ll see what we can do.”

There aren’t enough chairs for everyone at the table, but Beau and Nott perch easily on the counter while Fjord leans back against it. Molly and Jester have the two seats at the table, and Caleb stands next to Molly, just close enough that their shoulders brush.

Caduceus moves slowly but with purpose around the kitchen, and soon enough everyone has a cup of tea steaming in their hands.

“Now,” Caduceus leans against one of the cupboards. “What seems to be the issue?”

Caleb starts to explain his earlier findings, and Molly’s mind wanders. He knows he should pay attention to what Caleb is saying, but he’s been living with this for a long time, and he doesn’t want to listen to it be described in such academic terms. He tunes back in as he notices the change in Caleb’s voice that indicates he’s winding down. “So, it is a nasty piece of spellwork, and while I understand the concept of it, how it works, I do not have the capacity to undo it. Which is where the two of you come in. I was wondering if either of you had something that might be able to help lift the spells from Mollymauk.”

“Yeah, I think I might have something.” Caduceus tilts his head in thought, his ears flicking. “If you don’t mind me asking, you’ve said what the spell is, but not what it’s preventing.” He turns to address Molly. “I’m assuming one of them is what’s keeping you from speaking as you’d like. Would that be a fair assumption?”

Molly nods.

“Do you know what the other one does?”

Molly nods again, and when everyone looks at him, he mimes stabbing Caleb, then shakes his head.

“Can’t hurt anyone?” This comes from Beau, and when Molly nods yet again, she whistles out a breath. “That’s some rough shit.”

Caduceus makes a quiet noise of agreement. “Well, I of course can’t speak for Jester, here, but I think I could lift at least one of those for you right now if you like.”

Molly’s eyes go wide, and he clutches at Caleb’s sleeve. He’d known on some level there would be an effort made to get the spells removed or reversed, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so _quickly_.

“I think I can do the other one, maybe.”

Molly glances over in amazement at Jester, and she smiles back at him, though it’s tinged with sadness.

“Is it alright if we help you, Molly? We would really like to help you, if that is okay.”

He thinks he nods, but his skin has gone tingly and numb in the oddest way, and his grip on Caleb’s sleeve tightens.

Caleb turns in toward him, hand coming up slowly to cup Molly’s jaw. “ _Schatz_ , can you take a deep breath for me?”

Molly stutters a breath in, doesn’t know when he’d  _stopped_ , precisely. For a moment he just breathes, focusing on the feel of Caleb’s hand on his face, calloused thumb rubbing absently back and forth across Molly’s cheek, and the smokey scent that seems to cling to him. A few minutes later he takes a deep breath, lets it out, and looks from Caduceus to Jester and nods.

Jester brightens immediately, her tail curling up happily behind her from the low, pensive flick it’s been doing. Caduceus continues to smile and nods before straightening up from his lean against the counter, and Molly still isn’t over how _tall_ he is.

“I think maybe we should go somewhere more comfortable for this.”

They all troupe into the library, and Caleb gets the fire roaring again as Caduceus guides Molly to sit on the couch.

All of a sudden he’s nervous, inexplicably convinced this won’t work, that he’ll be stuck like this forever. Part of him wants to tell them not to try, because if they don’t try then they can’t fail; he wonders if having the possibility of it working wouldn’t be better than knowing for certain it won’t.

He doesn’t realize he’s working himself up into a state until Caleb comes to sit next to him, taking Molly’s hands in his and stopping him from where he’s unknowingly shredding the cuffs of his robe with his claws. Caleb catches his attention and smiles reassuringly at him, giving Molly’s hands a squeeze.

“It will be alright, _schatz_. Just a quick moment each, and you will be free of the enchantments. You know Jester, _ja_? You know she would not hurt you. And though you do not know Caduceus very well yet, know that he would not harm you either. You are safe with us.”

Molly gives a small, wobbly smile back, and nods. Caleb settles next to him on the couch, keeping hold of one of Molly’s hands, but staying out of the way so the clerics can do what they need to.

Jester steps forward first, beaming at Molly as she lifts her hands, her magic starting to coalesce a sparkling blue at her fingertips.

“I promise this won’t hurt a bit, Molly. I’ll deal with the speaking one first, and Deuces can handle the hurting people one after, okay?”

Molly nods, then closes his eyes. He can’t watch Jester reach for his temples without remembering Zerani doing the same, and it takes every ounce of will he possesses not to jerk back out of reach, to remain where he is and let Jester help him.

There’s the faintest touch of her fingers before her magic surges through him, and he can’t help the startled gasp as his eyes fly open again. He’d forgotten what Jester’s magic feels like, like his head is full of cool fizzing bubbles; as the bubbles lift out of his head, he feels something else lift with it, a tightness he hadn’t noticed. Something in his head releases, like a lock opening, and he sits in stunned disbelief.

It worked.

Or at least he thinks it did.

Everyone is staring at him expectantly, but it still takes him a moment to work up the courage to say something, still partially convinced he’ll be struck down.

“Thank you, Jester.”

The words are very quiet, and his voice is rough from disuse, but they’re _his_ , the first words he’s been able to speak without repercussion in months.

Her grin is wide enough it looks like her face will split in two, and she grabs him in a tight hug. He goes stiff for a moment, but then relaxes into it, hiding his face against her shoulder.

“I’m so happy it worked, Molly! I knew it would, of course, the Traveler told me so, but still,” She pulls back, eyes shining, but smiling. “I’m still really happy it worked.”

“M-me, too.”

She steps back and to the side, and then Caduceus is towering over him, smiling serenely. Part of Molly’s mind tells him he should be frightened, wants to cower back from the firbolg, but he can’t quite believe it. Everything about Caduceus’s manner and bearing speaks to softness, gentleness, kindness, and Molly has little trouble believing Caleb’s words that Caduceus won’t hurt him.

Caduceus’s words roll over Molly, a gentle rumble like distant thunder. “I’m going to help you now, if that’s alright.”

It’s easier now for Molly to nod. He realizes a second later he could have just _said_ yes, but he thinks it will be some time before he’s used to being able to speak again.

Caduceus nods and raises his hands, gently placing them on either side of Molly’s head. His hands almost completely cover Molly’s face, and he has to stifle a giggle at the mental image of what they must look like.

The magic from Caduceus feels different than Jester’s. While hers had been full of zing and exuberance, Caduceus’s magic feels _green_ , like the first sprouts of spring and the scent of wet earth and mulch. There’s another burst in his head, like a flower blooming, and he feels the second spell release and dissipate.

Caduceus pulls his hands back. “How you feeling, Mr. Mollymauk?”

Molly considers the question, then looks up, searching the room. When his eyes light on Beau, he perks, and he gestures for her to come over. She looks bewildered, but complies, crouching in front of him with a hint of uncharacteristic concern on her face.

“Yeah, Molly? Everything alright?”

He hauls back and punches her shoulder as hard as he can; it catches her completely by surprise, pulling a startled yelp out of her as she topples backwards and lands on her ass in front of him.

There’s a second of stunned silence and then Molly is laughing hysterically while Beau starts yelling at him.

“What the _fuck_ , Tealeaf?!”

He knows he should answer her, but his attention is elsewhere.

He was able to hit her and nothing happened.

_Nothing happened._

They did it, the magic is gone. Jester helps Beau up from the floor while Nott and Fjord make snide comments about her needing to train more while Caduceus watches, bemused. Molly doesn’t hear any of it. As the realization that he’s completely free now settles in, he hides his face against Caleb’s shoulder and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:  
> -nightmares  
> -Frumpkin the emotional support cat  
> -aftermath of starvation/deprivation


	7. Chapter 7

Molly spends the rest of the day in something of a daze, letting conversation wash over him as he sits near Caleb, pressed up against him. He learns of the Nein’s attempts to locate him, how they’d scoured the town for him when they realized he’d gone missing. The confused Crownsguard telling them that despite eyewitness accounts, they did not in fact have a purple tiefling in custody.

They tell him of the first days, then weeks of their search, tensions high, knowing that time was of the essence, but that it was like he had simply vanished into thin air.

“We even tried scrying for you.” Jester is sat on the floor, idly doodling in her journal across from Molly where he sits on a cushion with his back against the bottom of the couch. Caleb is sat above him on the couch proper, Molly with an arm wound around one of Caleb’s legs where they bracket him in. The others are elsewhere in the building, causing who knows what sort of mayhem while Caduceus cooks them dinner in the kitchen. At Molly’s raised eyebrow, Jester nods. “Well, we paid a guy to scry for you, anyway, but he couldn’t find you. He told us it didn’t mean you were _dead_ , necessarily, just that he wasn’t having any luck. A week later we found out about a group of slavers called the Iron Shepherds.”

Caleb’s legs squeeze in around Molly’s shoulders, and Molly’s arm tightens around Caleb’s calf.

“We didn’t really know anything other than that, but then Beau found a guy who knew something and she had a _chat_ with him.” Jester’s voice takes on an edge Molly’s unaccustomed to hearing from her, but it’s gone almost as soon as it appears, her voice going quiet and sad. “We knew what was happening to you, why you’d been taken, but we still didn’t know where you _were_ , couldn’t get you back.” She sniffles, and Molly realizes her eyes are starting to glisten. He makes a noise to get her attention and when she looks up at him he holds his free arm out, beckoning her over.

She goes readily, cuddling up in his lap and hugging him, her tail sliding around his waist. He pulls his arm free from Caleb’s leg as he pulls Jester close, giving her a squeeze.

They’d found help along the way, Mr. Clay, and once he’d found out one of the slavers was a cleric of the Strife Emperor, he’d readily agreed to help them.

She goes on to explain how they’d found the man who’d requested a pet from the Shepherds, how they’d caught him completely by surprise and killed him before he knew what was happening. Caduceus had turned him into a very nice cluster of flowers in the backyard of the household they’re currently occupying.

They’d kept looking, trying to find the compound, but just hadn’t been able to. Eventually they’d received the notice that Molly was ready for delivery, and they’d settled in to wait, to prepare so that once they had the men to follow back they could take the place down with extreme prejudice.

And Molly knows what happened after that.

He wishes they’d been able to find him, wishes he could have been spared, but wishing won’t change what’s already happened. If he really thinks about it, he’s glad they didn’t see him there, glad they never saw him ruined and broken and screaming. Maybe it’s better that things worked out the way they did.

Dinner is a quiet but cheerful affair out on a back terrace where there’s plenty of room, the food easy on Molly’s stomach.

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Mollymauk.” Caduceus is smiling at him as he starts to pick up the dishes from the table around him. “We’ll get you back to where you need to be soon.”

It takes him a moment and some effort, but Molly forces the words out past stubborn lips. “Molly to my friends.”

Caduceus beams at him, ears giving a happy flap. “Of course, Molly.”

The sun is just starting to set, sending rays of gold and amber across the lawn, making Caleb’s hair glow where he sits next to Molly, one of Molly’s hands in his, idly playing with his fingers. It’s soothing for Molly, the proof that Caleb’s here with him, that Caleb’s real.

As much as he’s enjoying being out under the sky, the breeze in his hair, his energy is starting to flag. It’s been a very eventful day, and he still has a lot of recovering to do. He yawns, and Caleb looks over at him, smiling fondly.

“Perhaps we should go in and get ready for bed, _schatz_.”

Molly looks around at everyone else, sprawled in various places around the terrace chatting before turning back to Caleb. “You don’t have to; you can stay here.”

Caleb’s grip on Molly’s hand tightens minutely before relaxing again. “If it is alright, I’d rather stay with you.”

He’d been prepared to go in by himself, but something inside him relaxes that Caleb is going with him. He doesn’t think they’ll all disappear if he loses sight of his friends, but it makes him feel better to know they’re nearby, to be able to see them.

They get ready for bed and nestle together in the large bed from the day before, facing each other, and Molly can’t help reaching up to trace his fingertips along Caleb’s jaw, up over his brow to brush a lock of hair behind his ear. He trails his fingers down Caleb’s throat and over his chest to end pressing his palm over Caleb’s heart, soaking in the feel of it beating under his hand. Caleb endures it quietly, watching Molly all the while and covering Molly’s hand with his own when it comes to rest on his chest.

“We never stopped looking for you, _schatz_.” The words are almost a whisper, but Molly has to close his eyes against them, fighting the sting in his eyes as he nods.

“I know.”

~~~

The next few days are much the same.

Molly spends most of his time with Caleb, listening to him read, watching him play with Frumpkin, or dozing near him by the fire. Caduceus brings him snacks throughout the day, but never so much that he has to refuse- apple slices, bits of cheese, toasted bread slices with jam. Every day sees him feeling stronger, though he knows it will be awhile before he’s back to where he was before.

Jester finds him one day and tugs him away from a bemused Caleb, pulling him to his and Caleb’s room before pulling out her pink bag. He watches curiously as she reaches in and pulls out what he quickly recognizes as his own pack.

“I’m sorry I didn’t remember earlier, Molly, or I’d have given it back, I wasn’t trying to like, _steal_ it or anything, you know. But I thought maybe you’d like your own clothes back, maybe.”

He reaches for the pack and unbuckles it, pulling things out from inside. There’s a couple of shirts, and a spare pair of his leggings, soft and colorful. He runs his fingers over the patterns, and tucks those back into the bag, preferring to keep on the brown ones Caleb had found and altered for him earlier; but he likes his shirts, likes how soft and worn they feel, and so he takes the linen shirt he’s been wearing and carefully pulls it over his horns, tossing it aside before reaching for one of his own shirts, pleased to be pulling something on that smells more like him than like the possession of a dead man.

“Molly-”

He gets the shirt over his head and his arms into the sleeves before he turns to Jester with a raised brow as he finishes pulling the shirt down.

She has the oddest look on her face, head tilted in confusion, concern and curiosity warring with each other for dominance.

“Where did your scars go?”

He freezes, hands stilling on the hem of his shirt, as his mind stutters to a halt.

Objectively, he knows that it would have come up at some point; his friends are observant people. It was unlikely he’d go for long without _someone_ noticing. He’d hoped he’d have more time, though. More time to figure out what to do when they inevitably asked, what to say when they asked what had happened to him in _any_ capacity. They’d been to the compound, so they must have seen some of what was going on there, must have some idea of the things that had happened to him, but nobody’s asked him yet. So while he’s not surprised Jester’s asked, he’s still woefully unprepared to answer her. He doesn’t want to tell her, wants to protect her from the knowledge in the way he couldn’t protect himself.

“Molly?” He snaps out of it, realizing that time’s been passing while he was deep in thought, and the concern has completely taken over her expression. “Are you okay? Do you need me to go get Caleb for you?” She looks worried and guilty, and he doesn’t want her to feel guilty. _She_ didn’t do this to him.

He shakes his head, pasting on a smile. He can’t make himself say he’s alright; he can’t make himself say _anything_ , and so he does what he did before. He brings his hands up to his chest like he’s grabbing something, then flicks his hands away, tossing something aside.

Her brows furrow before rising in astonishment. “They took them _away_?”

He nods, purposefully lacing up the front of his shirt so his chest isn’t visible anymore. When he looks up she’s still watching him, unsure, the edge of guilt still weighing her lips down into a frown. He steps closer and takes her arm, patting her hand before gently knocking their horns together. A smile blooms across her face, brightening her right up; she squeezes his arm before pulling him toward the door, telling him about some new pastry or other she’s found, the momentary awkwardness forgotten. He has no doubt it will come up again, but for now he has a reprieve.

~~~

A week later, they decide it’s time to go.

They’re heading back to Zadash, back somewhere comfortable and familiar to regroup further before deciding what to do with themselves. They’ve got almost more gold than they know what to do with, between what they’ve taken from the Shepherd’s compound and the house they’ve been staying in, and that doesn’t even touch on all the stuff they’ve taken, the cart groaning with their spoils. Molly’s been outfitted with a pair of boots and a cloak, and when he asks Nott where she got them she shrugs and refuses to answer, and he decides he’s better off not knowing.

The first day of travel goes well, the sun shining overhead, but with a cool breeze that keeps them comfortable. They see a few farmers in nearby fields, and a cart or two heading in the other direction, but other than that don’t meet anyone else on the road. When they stop for the night and pull aside to make camp, Molly’s a little chagrined when he’s sat down next to the fire pit and told to relax and rest.

He doesn’t want to sit and relax, he wants to _help_ , he wants things to be normal, like they were; he can, however, admit that he’s not used to this sort of activity anymore. His muscles ache, and if he weren’t ravenous he’d probably just topple over and go to sleep. As it is, when Caleb brings him dinner Molly’s only mostly awake, basking in the warmth of the fire.

“Wake up, _schatz_. Have dinner and then you can sleep.”

They eat, and when they’re done Caleb ushers him to the bedrolls he set out when Molly wasn’t watching. They get ready for bed, the murmur of their friends adding to the quiet rustle of the tall grass around them and the evening insects coming out. It occurs to Molly after he’s already got his boots off and is wrapped in blankets that he never asked about watch. He brings this up to Caleb who only smiles softly at him and kisses him before nestling in next to him. “Watches are all spoken for, _schatz_ , don’t worry.”

Molly grumbles, but doesn’t argue; he’s tired enough he’d be useless anyway.

He takes a deep breath of the fresh night air and falls asleep on a sigh as Caleb slides an arm around him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're here, thank you for reading the whole thing! This story has been in the works for months, and I'm so glad I've finally gotten to share it with all of you. Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Also! There's art now! Check out the end of chapter 1 to see it, or visit @apollinares on twitter to [see the amazing work](http://twitter.com/apollinares/status/1131725792231215105?s=20)!

They enter Zadash just under a week later, and while Molly’s been enjoying being on the open road again, he’ll be glad to be somewhere with a proper bed with easy access to baths.

He’s forgotten how crowded and loud Zadash is, and the further in they get, the more tense he becomes. He used to love the crush of people, the constant noise and bustle, but now it feels overwhelming, every shout from a merchant or passerby making him flinch and pull closer to Caleb until by the time they reach the Pillow Trove, Caleb has an arm around his shoulders, murmuring quietly to him to help keep him from outright panic.

Molly quickly realizes he doesn’t want to be left alone.

He tries, heading to the bar on his own that evening, just downstairs from their room where Caleb is transcribing spells, but he’s not there more than ten minutes before he retreats back up. He’d spent the whole time hyper aware of everyone around him, unable to relax, and by the time he’s making it through the door to their room to rejoin Caleb his shoulders hurt from how rigidly he’s holding himself. It makes something ache within him; he can remember how carefree he was, how much he’d enjoyed just being around people, even if he wasn’t speaking to them. He’s afraid now, afraid to be near people he doesn’t know, to have people at his back. It feels as if any moment something will come down on the back of his head and the nightmare will start all over again.

He learns to sit with his back to a wall, to be able to see the room if he wants to have any peace while they eat. He chooses water most of the time, not liking the idea of being incapacitated in any way. In the back of his mind now is a quiet, constant murmur of ‘ _Just in case_ ’.

He knows the others see it. He catches them exchanging looks with each other, whispered conversations that stop when he approaches; he sees the looks Caleb gives him when he doesn’t think Molly can see.

He feels like a shade of himself, and he wonders how much of him they actually got back.

The day after they arrive, Beau and Fjord return from selling off all the stuff they’d found and the group sits sprawled around Jester and Beau’s room to divvy up the spoils.

Molly idly counts his pile of coins, and notices it looks- well it looks _bigger_ than everyone else’s. Fjord hands out evenly stacked piles of gold and platinum to everyone, but not him; he has too much. When he points it out, Fjord barely looks at the pile in front of Molly before he says, “Nah, that seems about right.”

Molly glances around the group ready to protest when he realizes that nobody else will look at him, and suddenly he’s tired, weary, but also can feel the low simmer of anger starting in his belly. These are his _friends_ , and he knows they mean well; he doesn’t want to fight with them, but at the same time it rubs him the wrong way, and he can feel his hackles rise.

“If you say so, Fjord.” He scoops the pile back into the small sack it had come in, and gets up to head for his and Caleb’s room. He hears someone call his name on his way out the door but doesn’t let it slow him down.

He isn’t thrilled about being out of eye-shot of the others, but their room still feels relatively safe. He’s looking at the bag of money in his hand contemplatively when there’s a light knock at the door.

“ _Schatz_ , may I come in?”

“It’s your room, too, Caleb, you can do as you like.”

The door opens and Caleb cautiously enters; he closes the door and leans back against it, fingers picking nervously at his sleeve cuffs.

“Are you alright, Molly? You left rather abruptly.”

Molly takes a deep breath, then another before answering.

“Why was my share bigger than everyone else's?”

Caleb’s face does a thing, a variation on what Molly thinks of as his ‘thinking’ face. “Do you believe Fjord made an error in his counting? We can recount, if you’d like, that is no trouble, _schatz_.”

“Caleb.” Molly pinches the bridge of his nose; this whole thing is giving him a headache. “Please don’t patronize me, love. I know what I saw, and you know it’s not a counting error.”

Caleb’s expression shifts, softening. “The group felt that considering all you had endured, what those people put you through, you deserved a greater amount of compensation.”

“A greater amount of compensation.” Molly hefts the bag, hearing the shift and jingle of the money inside. “And how much extra was my suffering worth? How did you all decide what two months of pain and degradation costs? That must have been an interesting conversation, I’m sure. Was there some sort of chart you used? What’s the standard going rate? Was it the same or more than what that fucker paid for me?”

Caleb flinches back at Molly’s biting tone, and Molly instantly feels bad. This isn’t Caleb’s fault. It’s not any of their faults.

“I’m sorry.” Molly sighs and drops the bag to land on top of his pack, turning to walk to Caleb, taking his hands and lifting them to his lips for a quick kiss. “I’m apparently in a bit of a mood. I appreciate what you all are trying to do, but it just feels...well, I’m not sure, but I don’t like it.”

“If you like, _schatz_ , we can redistribute the money so things are equal?”

“Oh no.” Molly grins at him. “It’s mine now. I plan on spending it to randomly spoil the group. That way everyone gets a part of it. I like buying people things and treating them well, you know me.”

Caleb smiles at him, looking relieved. “I do. We perhaps did not think things through very well.”

Molly leans in, kissing Caleb’s cheek. “Your hearts were in the right place. I just- I don’t want special treatment, you know? I want things to be like they were.”

Things will never be what they were before, and Molly knows it, but Caleb’s kind enough not to point it out.

~~~

Toward the end of their first week in Zadash, Caleb asks Molly if he’d mind if he went out and ran some errands.

“I don’t want to leave if you will be uncomfortable, _schatz,_ but Caduceus is staying here, and I thought I might leave Frumpkin with you for company, if that’s alright.”

Molly smiles at him. “It’s okay, love, go on and go shopping. I know you’ve been itching to go to Pumat’s since we’ve been back. I’ll be alright here for a few hours.”

Caleb beams at him, and Molly wonders how Caleb thinks he could deny him anything that’s in his power to give. Caleb gives him a quick kiss, snaps Frumpkin into Molly’s arms, and then disappears out the door to their room with a wave and a smile.

The first little while isn’t bad.

He curls up on their bed with Frumpkin and naps, enjoying the plush pillows, comfortable mattress, the ridiculous thread count. He can only sleep so long, though, and with a pat to Frumpkin’s head, he gets up and stretches, and pokes around the room.

He ends up standing in front of the full-length mirror. If he’s honest with himself, he’s been avoiding it, trying not to look. It’s a shock seeing how different he looks from what he remembers; his scars are mostly gone, and he’s thinner than he remembers being. His hair is longer, and it’s odd to see himself without any of the glitz and shine his jewelry would normally provide. He doesn’t look like _himself_ , like Mollymauk Tealeaf.

The man staring back at him in the mirror, wide-eyed and lost looks a lot more like Lucien than Molly wants to admit, but he can’t deny it, either. The proof is right there staring back at him.

There’s a feeling in his gut; it’s growing, and he’s not sure what it is until suddenly he doesn’t know how he didn’t see it. It’s _fury_. It’s fury and anger and righteous indignation. They took so much from him at the compound, his voice and his will and even his scars. They took his identity away, made him into someone else, someone he barely recognizes, and he _hates_ it, hates that he barely knows himself in the mirror.

It comes to him suddenly, like lightning, the realization that he can do something about it if he really wants to. He put most of those scars there in the first place; there’s nothing to say he can’t do it again.

He’s moving, almost in a fog, and there’s a quiet _mrrp_ from Frumpkin on the bed but it skims over his mind like a stone skipping water. He unbuckles his pack and digs around until he finds a small knife. It usually lives in the bottom of his pack, a basic utility knife, but in this moment it feels perfect, exactly what he needs.

A moment later the knife is unsheathed, and he’s standing shirtless in front of the mirror. He isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, what precisely he means to do. He just wants to look like himself again, _feel_ like himself again, and this seems the easiest way to get there.

He’s just lifting the knife when there’s a soft knock on the door and the knob turns, Caduceus’s voice coming through before the firbolg himself steps in.

“Mr. Molly, I was wondering if you’d like to get some lunch with- _oh_. Hmm.”

Molly’s frozen, hand halfway lifted, and he doesn’t know what to do. He hadn’t expected to have to explain to anyone, hadn’t thought that far ahead, hadn’t really been thinking of anything other than feeling like himself again.

Caduceus enters the room fully and gently shuts the door behind him with a _click_. Molly watches him in the mirror as he moves to the bed and sits, smiling down at Frumpkin as the cat gives a happy chirp and gets up, stretching, to headbutt Caduceus’s hand.

“Why don’t you come have a seat over here, Molly. I think maybe we should talk.”

It takes an effort, but Molly drops his hand back to his side before walking to the bed and sitting on the other side of Frumpkin across from Caduceus. He’s still holding the knife, doesn’t think he can make himself put it down just yet, but Caduceus doesn’t seem terribly bothered by it.

“Did you know that I’m a follower of the Wildmother?”

Molly blinks, surprised by the sudden change in topic, and shakes his head.

Caduceus smiles warmly at him before continuing. “She’s a great many things to a great many people, and my family’s been following her for generations. Longer, even. She’s been looking over the Blooming Grove and my family for a long time, but something’s been creeping into the Savalierwood, corrupting it.” Caduceus reaches down to pet Frumpkin, who purrs delightedly and flops to his side, offering his belly for rubs, which Caduceus graciously provides. “I’ve been waiting for some kind of sign, some indication of what I should do, and I was starting to wonder if I’d get one.” He looks up at Molly, smiling, and Molly can’t help but smile back, even if he has no idea where this conversation is going.

“And then one day a small group of very distraught people came to my door asking for assistance. One of their friends had been kidnapped by slavers.”

Oh. Molly looks down at Frumpkin and rubs at the base of one of his ears, earning a louder purr and a stretch.

“I was of course happy to help. Part of what I do is helping those in need. They told me one of the slavers was a cleric of the Strife Emperor, and well, that just sealed the deal.” For the first time since Molly’s known Caduceus, the firbolg’s voice turns cold and disapproving. When he looks over, Caduceus gives a shrug. “As I’m sure you learned, the way of the Strife Emperor and the way of the Wildmother are in opposition. I couldn’t have hoped for a clearer sign, though I’m sorry you had to suffer for it.”

Molly shudders, remembering what Zerani’s magic felt like, that it hurt every time, a distinct counter to the healing he knowss from Jester, from Yasha, and now from Caduceus. He remembers how she’d _delighted_ in the fact that he’d scream even as she healed him.

He jumps at the touch of a hand on his shoulder, not having noticed Caduceus moving, and the firbolg’s smile softens when Molly meets his eyes.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, Molly, you carry a heavy load with you. You don’t want to burden your friends with it, and that’s admirable, but if I might suggest- sometimes heavy loads are more easily carried when shared.”

What does he say to that? That he doesn’t want to tell the others because they might think differently of him? He’s certain they’ll be angry on his behalf, further vindicated in their eradication of the compound, and he doesn’t think they’ll blame him for anything that happened, but that doesn’t make it easier. He can imagine the looks on their faces if he told them even a fraction of what he went through, what was done to him.

“Molly.” The hand on his shoulder squeezes, and Caduceus’s eyes are kind when Molly looks up at him again. “I don’t know who you were before, but I like to think I know who you are now, at least a little. What I see is a person who’s still suffering, and I’d like to help you if I can. So friend, how may I alleviate your pain?”

“I...” Molly looks down to the knife in his hand, fingers flexing around it. “I want-” The fury billowing around inside him is cooling, distilling down to a sorrow that coats the inside of his lungs and makes it difficult to breathe. When he stops to think about it, there’s so much hurt bubbling through him he doesn’t know how he isn’t drowning in it.

Maybe he _is_.

He chokes on a sob, dropping the knife to cover his mouth with both hands.

Frumpkin looks up at him with concern, and Caduceus clucks his tongue. “You don’t have to stifle it, Molly. Crying is a perfectly natural and therapeutic outlet for dealing with grief. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Molly pulls his legs up onto the bed tailor-style, curling forward over them as Frumpkin gets up, worming his way in between Molly’s legs and his chest, purr a soothing rumble. He doesn’t know how long he cries for, but when the sobs subside he realizes that Caduceus has moved closer and is rubbing a careful hand up and down his back. He feels drained, wrung out like a dishrag and utterly exhausted. Surprisingly, he does feel a little better, like draining an infected wound; the lancing is painful, but allows for healing to begin.

“There now,” Caduceus pulls a small handkerchief from somewhere and hands it to Molly. “That’s a good first step.”

“I’m not-” Molly takes a hitching breath, still on the edge of tears. “Nobody _died_ , Caduceus.”

Caduceus’s normally hazy expression sharpens. “Would you say you’re the same person you were when you were taken, Molly?”

Molly shakes his head; he _knows_ he isn’t.

“Just because your body didn’t die doesn’t mean that there aren’t things to grieve, parts of you you’re going to mourn. All mourning is, all _grief_ really is, is a way to process loss, and that’s what you’re doing.”

Sniffling, Molly unfolds slightly, continuing to pet Frumpkin. Caduceus is right; he hasn’t wanted to admit that he’s changed, wants to go back to who he was before, but he knows he can’t. The person he is now, with all the damage and new experiences is _him_ ; might as well start getting used to it.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what were you thinking of doing with the knife when I walked in?”

The words carry no judgement, just calm gentle curiosity, but Molly still tenses. He’s almost forgotten the knife on the bed next to him, but now that Caduceus has drawn his attention back, he can’t stop looking at it.

“I was- was going to-” he swallows heavily, scrubs a hand over his face. “I want my scars back. You didn’t know me before they...I had a lot of,” Molly gestures to his chest, his arms. “I had a lot of scars from one thing and another, from how I fight, and they decided it wasn’t _pretty_.” He spits the word, and it falls like acid from his tongue. “So they removed them. To make me more visually appealing. But they were _mine_ , and I- I want them back.” He finishes so quietly he’s not sure whether Caduceus hears him, but Caduceus’s ears flick, and he gives a considering hum and a nod.

“Yeah, that makes sense. I can help you, if you want.”

That startles a wet laugh out of Molly. “What, _really_?”

Caduceus nods again, shrugging. “You don’t feel like yourself, and that’s an unpleasant way to live. If I can ease your suffering by helping you do this in a safe way, I don’t see why I wouldn’t. If you’re going to do this, let me help you do it in a way that won’t harm you.”

“I- yeah. That sounds...that would be great.”

A soft smile works its way across Caduceus’s face, and he pats Molly’s arm before standing up. “I’m happy to help you, Molly, but first I think maybe some lunch is in order. Best to do these sorts of things with a full stomach, don’t you think? And maybe some tea. Tea makes everything better.”

By the time the others return later, Molly’s curled back on his and Caleb’s bed with Frumpkin, chest and arms bandaged and stinging, a cup of tea nearby on the nightstand. The new wounds hurt, and the poultice Caduceus applied right after Molly made them had stung and burned something fierce, but Caduceus had assured him that the only thing it was doing was irritating the cuts so that they’d scar how he wanted.

“ _They won’t get infected this way. They’ll heal up quick, and safely, but you’ll still get your marks back_.”

Caleb is distressed to come back to find Molly in bandages, but Molly assures him it’s fine, that _he’s_ fine.

“But _schatz_ …” Caleb’s gently holding one of Molly’s wrists, fingers skimming over the tidily applied bandages on his forearm. “Why?”

“I want to recognize who I see in the mirror again. I don’t want to see myself as what was done to me, what they made of me. I don’t want to see the bastard who had this body before me. This is a way to get some of myself back from them, to see _me_ when I look at myself.”

He understands how macabre it must look, but he already feels better knowing the marks are there under the wrappings.

“Well,” Caleb says, setting Molly’s arm down carefully and taking hold of his hand instead. “I suppose it’s no different than your tattoos, _ja_? They are a part of you, of who you are, how you choose to look.”

Molly sags with relief against the pillows; he’d been sure Caleb would understand, but knowing it now for a certainty lifts a weight from his shoulders.

Caleb smiles down at him, bringing Molly’s hand up to press his lips to Molly’s knuckles.

The cuts take a couple of days to heal, but when the bandages come off a part of him slides back into place as he sees the familiar marks across his chest and forearms in the mirror.

He looks like himself again, at least a little, and he can’t help the tears that sting at his eyes.

Caleb comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around Molly’s waist and hooking his chin over Molly’s shoulder, watching Molly’s expression in the mirror as he presses a kiss to the side of Molly’s neck.

“ _Das ist gut_?”

The smile Molly gives is a little wobbly at the edges, but it’s genuine.

“Yeah, it’s good.”

~~~

It’s evening at the Pillow Trove, and Molly is sitting with Jester in a common area on the bottom floor. They both have mulled cider, and she’s been drawing in her journal for the last while. He’s been sitting quietly, leaned up against her side as she draws, dozing from the heat of the fire with her tail looped loosely around his ankle, his own curled mostly in his lap.

“Molly?”  
  
“Hmm?”

“Is your tail okay?”

His hands still where they’ve been gently massaging the appendage in question, trying to ease some of the ache that’s been plaguing him the last day or so with the rain that’s blown in.

“Of course, dear, why?”

There’s a beat of silence, and when he glances over it’s to find her watching him intently, expression serious. “Molly, I can see that it is hurting you. The others may not be able to tell, may not have noticed, but it is hard for me to miss.” She glances down to where it’s curled protectively in his lap instead of draped across the couch or twined with hers like he used to do. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay, but I wish you’d let me or Caduceus help you if you’re hurting, you know?”

He looks back down at his tail where it’s resting in his hands. “I don’t know that there’s anything to be done about it at this point.”

“ _Pfft_.”

He looks up, surprised at the noise, and she gives him a wink. “Last time I checked, Molly, you are not a cleric, so maybe you should be leaving those kinds of things to us to decide.”

He finds a smile for her, and though it makes his stomach twist uncomfortably, he holds his tail out to her for examination.

He trusts her. Jester is a lot of things- a prankster, silly, young, naive- but he knows that he can trust her with this.

That doesn’t stop his hands from shaking as she gently takes hold of his tail, hands warm and steady.

She’s careful the whole time she’s looking at it, pressing lightly along the length of it, bending it ever so slightly. He makes a few quiet noises of discomfort, and each time she murmurs an apology. Finally she’s done, and her eyes are sad when she looks up at him; she’s a tiefling, after all, she understands what it means to have a compromised tail.

“Oh, Molly, what did they do to you?”

He huffs an unhappy laugh. “That’s a bit of a broad question, isn’t it?”

She’s not put off by his attempt at deflection, just keeps staring at him until he squirms uncomfortably. He thinks about his conversation with Caduceus, his suggestion that Molly let the others help him carry his burden.

“They, uh- they broke it.”

She gasps, and he keeps going before he can talk himself out of it. “They broke it quite a lot, actually, in a bunch of different places and tied it in a knot. Then didn’t fix it for a few days. It was...was-” He doesn’t think he can describe what it was like, isn’t sure that he really wants to. Just thinking about it makes him queasy, makes him want to pull his tail back from Jester’s hands and coil it close where nobody can touch it.

“ _Molly_ …”

He dares a quick look at her and while there’s tears gathering in her eyes, she also looks livid, angrier than he thinks he’s ever seen her.

“Who did it.”

“Does it really matter? They’re all dead.”

“ _Molly_. Who did it.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It was my...it was Carum, the man they had working on me. Red-skinned tiefling, black hair, gold eyes, straight horns.”

A vicious smile appears on her face, and when he tilts his head in question, the smile only grows, her fangs flashing.

“I killed him myself.”

Molly’s known, at least intellectually, that Carum is dead. If they’d killed everyone in the compound, it stood to reason he would have died, too; but being told that the man who’d tormented him for months was _definitely_ dead was something else entirely. For a few minutes all Molly can do is lean against the warm solidity of Jester and breathe as she slides an arm over his shoulders and holds him close.

“I am sorry for what he did to you, Molly. He was a horrible man, I can’t believe he’d- and one of us, he’d have _known_...I want to raise him so I can kill him again, but _harder_.”

Molly huffs a laugh against her shoulder. “Please don’t.”

She pulls him close, knocking horns with him, and he smiles.

“I don’t know that we can completely fix your tail for you, Molly, it’s already been healed, but whoever did it didn’t do a great job.” He shudders at the memory of Zerani’s hands on him, that sometimes her healing seemed to do more harm than good, even if the end result was his injuries being wiped away.

“I think we might still be able to help.”

He pulls back slightly so it’s easier to look at her. “Really?”

She smiles and nods at him. “Of course! There are some things we can give you to rub into it that will help the muscles loosen, and keep inflammation down, make it hurt less to move. And there are exercises you can do to strengthen it back up again which should help too. If it’s okay with you I can talk to Deuces and see if he has any other thoughts?”

He clears his throat, and nods. “Y-yeah, that- that sounds great, Jester.”

She grins at him, tugging him close again for a hug before pulling back and bouncing up off the couch, grabbing her journal and pencil. “I’m going to go find him right now! I’ll let you know what he says, and we should have at least a little something for you before bed time!”

He watches bemused as she heads toward the door, passing Caleb with a quick hello as the man comes in, watching her fondly as she leaves.

Caleb sits next to Molly, and Molly leans into his side, relaxing into the feel of Caleb’s arm around him. Caleb pulls him close and kisses Molly’s hair.

“Alright, _schatz_?”

Molly sighs, snuggling in against Caleb’s side.

“Actually? Yeah. I think so.”

~~~

“Molly, come shopping with us!”

He looks up from where he’s been sitting on his and Caleb’s bed practicing with his cards. Jester is standing in the doorway to the room, bouncing with excitement. Behind her, just visible over her shoulder is Caleb, smiling, but much more calm.

“Only if you want to, _schatz_ , but it might be nice to go for a walk, _ja_?”

It’s gentle, as pushes go, but Molly still squirms, hesitant. He hasn’t been out much since their arrival in Zadash; the crowds and loud sudden noises make him nervous and twitchy. Nobody’s called him on it yet, not directly, but he knows it hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Jester is still watching him expectantly, and he sighs with a smile, gathering up his cards to wrap and tuck away in his pack.

“I suppose a little shopping couldn’t hurt.”

Jester shouts with joy and spins in place, almost knocking into Caleb in her haste to get ready to head out. Caleb wanders into the room, waiting for Molly to stand after putting his cards away. Once he does, Caleb cups Molly’s face in his hands and draws him in for a quick kiss.

“You don’t have to if you really don’t want to, _schatz_. I know the city can be a lot sometimes.”

“No, I- I think it’ll be okay.” Molly brings a hand up to catch one of Caleb’s and gives it a squeeze. “As long as I stay near you guys.”

Caleb gives him a smile, stepping back so Molly can finish gathering his things for the outing. “Of course, _liebling_.”

Soon the three of them are off, and true to Caleb’s word he stays close to Molly, going so far as to hold his hand as they venture into the Pentamarket, their fingers tangling together; Molly wants to tell him that’s not necessary, but having a physical tether to Caleb is soothing, and holding Caleb’s hand is never a hardship. Jester bounces ahead of them, looking at any little thing that strikes her fancy, excitedly pointing out different shops and stands.

“Oh! Molly, look!”

Caleb and Molly wander over to where Jester is standing in front of a small cart, her tail in a happy curve behind her. The cart is covered in jewelry of all sorts, pendants, bracelets, earrings, charms, glittering in all colors of the rainbow and glinting in an array of metals. Jester is already poking through a display when they get to her, and Molly feels an ache in his chest. These are exactly the sorts of things he used to wear, used to have dripping from his horns, from his ears and tail. He used to sound like a small set of wind chimes when he moved from all the jewelry he wore. This kind of ostentation feels dangerous, now, like a target on his back.

He encourages Jester, exclaiming over the things she finds, pointing out others she might like, tells her how lovely she looks with certain pieces, but declines to try anything himself. He waves it off as not being sure what he’s looking for, but that he’ll know it when he sees it. Jester shrugs and turns to pay the merchant, but Molly can feel Caleb’s eyes on him, even if he doesn’t say anything.

It’s a good day, Molly thinks later as he and Caleb are getting ready for bed. They’d visited a few more shops, gotten Jester some pastries, and met the group for dinner and drinks at a pub before heading back to the Pillow Trove for the night. Molly’s tired, but in a good way, and having Caleb nearby made going out easier than he’d thought it would be. Any time he started to grow anxious Caleb would squeeze his hand, remind him he wasn’t alone, and it had helped to settle him.

Now he’s sitting on the bed, teasing Frumpkin with a bit of string while Caleb copies spells using the new paper he’d bought. It’s quiet and comfortable just being near each other; the sound of Caleb’s pen scratching over the paper is familiar, as is the quiet purring from Frumpkin. It was a good day, and now it’s a good night, and Molly could get used to this.

“Molly, I have something for you.”

Molly glances up to see Caleb pull something from his pocket as he stands and walks over to the bed to sit across from him. Caleb holds his hand out to Molly, lifting his fingers to reveal a horn charm; it’s silver, made up of delicate links woven together into strands. Dangling off the end of it is a stylized crescent moon with a small bluish gem chip as an eye. It’s beautiful, well-crafted, and an incredibly thoughtful gift for Caleb to have gotten him.

He reaches out and takes it from Caleb’s palm to get a closer look at it. It’s just as beautiful up close, and he knows he’s going to cherish this piece, not just because of how lovely it is, but because it was Caleb that gave it to him.

He keeps it in his hand while he uses his other to reach for Caleb, grasping him by the back of the neck and pulling him in to kiss him.

“It’s beautiful, _cariad_ , thank you.”

“Would you like me to help you put it on?”

Molly hesitates, just for a second, then smiles at Caleb.

“Perhaps tomorrow, love. We’ll be going to bed, soon, and I don’t want it to get tangled.”

And there’s that look again, the same one Caleb had given him in the market at the jewelry stall- considering, going through something in his mind.

“ _Schatz_ -” He pauses, mouth working like he’s trying to find the correct words, and Molly’s stomach twists anxiously. “Molly, I have noticed that you have been...less outgoing, perhaps, then you used to be, and there is nothing wrong with that, of course, you have been through quite a lot the last few months. I can see every day that you are getting stronger, more sure of yourself, and it is a wonderful sight to behold, _liebling_.” He stops again, smiling at Molly, and Molly returns it, the knot in his stomach starting to uncoil. “I want to ask you a question, _schatz_ , and it is alright if you do not want to answer, but I think maybe I should ask it anyway.”

The knot that’s been loosening in his stomach cinches tight again, and he pulls his hand back in from where it’s been playing with the hair at the back of Caleb’s neck, holding both hands in his lap, the new charm clasped tightly. He’s proud that his voice doesn’t noticeably shake when he says, “Of course love. You can ask me anything.”

Caleb gives him a searching look, then continues. “I have noticed that since you have been back, you have not been decorating yourself as you used to. I understand there is an adjustment period, but I saw you looking at the jewelry today with Jester, and I could see that you wanted to try and perhaps buy things, but you did not. I know you have the resources to buy pretty much any bauble you wanted, and I hope you know that if you didn’t, I would have happily gotten you anything your heart desired, so I suppose I am just wondering what is stopping you?”

Molly looks down to his lap and opens the hand with the charm in it. He can get the words out or he can look at Caleb. He doesn’t think he can do both at the same time.

“In the first few days they had me, my trainer told me that the only reason they took me was because of how I looked. I was _pretty_ , he said. Eye-catching. I came pre-decorated.” Molly huffs a laugh, and it tastes bitter on his tongue. “They had no idea who I was. The only interest they had in what I could do was so they could take measures to prevent it. I don’t think they ever even learned my name. They never asked, and I couldn’t tell them. They just didn’t _care_.”

Caleb makes a soft noise, but Molly keeps going.

“The reason they took me, the _only_ reason, was because of how I looked, because I stood out, because I was too bright, too colorful, too...too _much_. It got me _noticed_ , and look where getting noticed got me.”

Caleb’s hands come into view, clasping around Molly’s where they lay in Molly’s lap. “ _Schatz_ , will you please look at me?”

It’s hard, but Molly does it.

Caleb is looking back at him, ducked down slightly to be able to catch his eye more easily. His expression is soft, searching, and a smile blooms on his face when they make eye contact. His voice when he speaks is soft, caring, and full of love.

“I understand, _schatz_. I know what it is to hide, to be desperate to go unnoticed, afraid to be seen.” He squeezes his hands around Molly’s, his smile going impossibly softer. “Caution is understandable, _liebling_ , but fear will bury you. Living every moment in fear- being afraid to be yourself- is no way to live. Do you know how I know?”

Molly can’t speak, the lump in his throat choking him, so he just shakes his head. Caleb raises the hand of Molly’s with the charm in it to his lips pressing them against Molly’s knuckles, his next words buzzing against Molly’s skin.

“I know this because I learned it from watching you. You taught me to be unafraid, to stop hiding. My life is better for it, and better for having you in it.”

Molly chokes out a noise stuck between a laugh and a sob, and tugs a hand loose to rub at his eyes. “You can’t just- people don't _say_ things like that, Caleb.”

Caleb pulls Molly’s hand back, bringing it to his mouth to kiss the tears off Molly’s skin. “But it’s true, _ja_? You have helped me become a better man, Mollymauk; I am richer for knowing you. You have helped me in so many ways, _schatz_ , you don't even know. I hope you will let me help you in turn.”

They end up sprawled on the bed, limbs tangled together, exchanging kisses. For all they’ve been sharing a bed since Molly’s return, they haven’t progressed past quick presses of lips and fleeting touches. Now, though, Molly just wants to be close to Caleb, as close as he can be, and Caleb laughs as Molly hurriedly gets them undressed, trying to help, but Molly keeps batting his hands away, relearning Caleb’s body as he goes. They fall together against the pillows and Molly’s heart feels so full it might burst. There’s been so much over the past few months he’s been unsure of, but this is something he’s increasingly certain about. He lets his hands wander, Caleb beneath him, pliant and patient, humming happily at the feel of Molly’s hands, beautifully responsive. Molly runs his palms over Caleb, enjoying the feel of his skin, the gentle bumps of his ribs, the softness of his belly, the jut of his hips.

He’s missed this. He’s missed this so much, and now that he has it back, he’s going to make the most of it.

After, Molly lies cuddled up along Caleb’s side with Caleb’s arms around him. He feels safe, warm, loved, and he doesn’t want to sleep, doesn’t want to stop feeling this.

“ _Schatz_ ,” Caleb murmurs into Molly’s hair before planting a kiss there. “Sleep. I will still be here in the morning. Neither of us is going anywhere.”

Molly snuggles closer, and tries to believe him.

The next morning at breakfast, Jester exclaims over Molly’s new horn charm, and Molly catches Caleb’s pleased look from across the table.

~~~

He’s getting better, but recovery is a slow process.

There are days where Molly almost feels like his old self, going on walks with Jester to explore parts of Zadash they’ve never seen, trying new foods, slowly rebuilding his jewelry collection. Then there are days where he’s afraid to leave their room at the Pillow Trove, afraid to let his friends out of his sight for fear one of them will vanish, never to be seen again. A sudden scream or shout nearby still makes him freeze, unable to move until one of the others can remind him where he is, that everything is alright, that everyone’s safe.

One day a note arrives for Caleb and he suddenly gets very secretive, saying he has to run an errand. When Molly asks if he would mind company, a playful smile appears on Caleb's face, and he asks Molly to please stay behind.

“I have a surprise for you, _liebling_. I've just received word it’s ready and must go get it, but I will be back soon, and I will show you, I promise.”

It’s on the tip of Molly’s tongue to ask Caleb to take Nott with him. Today is one of his better days, but it still makes him nervous to see any of them go anywhere alone. Before he can say anything Jester asks if she can go too, and Caleb gives her a considering look before saying yes. The two of them disappear out the door, and Molly tries not to spend the next while guessing what the surprise could possibly be.

Their return is heralded by Jester bursting through the door to the common room at the Pillow Trove, near-vibrating with glee, Caleb following behind her at a much more sedate pace, but smiling, pleased.

Molly gives Jester a questioning look, but she just shakes her head and looks over to Caleb. Caleb comes to sit next to Molly and pulls a small box out of his pocket.

“I had an idea for a small thing, but I am not yet strong enough at enchantment to make it work. Thankfully we know a very good enchanter, and Pumat was happy to help make it happen.”

Caleb opens the box, and resting on a bed of velvet inside is a small stud earring.The earring itself appears to be silver, with an amethyst set in it, nearly the same color as Molly’s skin. It glints in the light of the nearby fireplace as Caleb plucks it out of the box and takes the backing off, looking up expectantly at Molly. “May I, _schatz_?”

Molly’s curious now, wondering what the earring does if Pumat had to be involved. “Of course, love. I trust you.”

That gets a warm smile from Caleb and then he’s leaning in, fitting the earring into one of Molly’s ear piercings and making sure the backing is firmly in-place but not too tight.

Jester fishes a small mirror out of her bag and Molly checks his reflection, noticing how while the earring subtly shines, the color is close enough that it almost disappears against his skin.

“It’s very pretty, love, and thank you, but what does it do?”

Caleb’s smile widens, holding up a finger for patience, and gets up, walking away to go back outside the common room. Molly turns to Jester, confused, but she tells him to wait a moment.

“ _Schatz_ , can you hear me?”

Molly jumps, head swiveling to look for Caleb, but he’s nowhere to be seen despite the fact that it sounds like Caleb’s speaking right in his ear.

“What-”

“Touch the thing! Touch the earring, then talk back to him.”

Understanding starts to dawn as Molly reaches up to touch the earring with his fingertips, and tentatively says, “Hello?”

“ _Hallo_ , _schatz_.” Caleb's voice is quiet and warm, and Molly can easily hear his smile. “I thought having a way to keep in contact even if we're not right next to each other might help you feel better. We cannot go _too_ far apart, only about five hundred feet or so, but-”

Molly touches his earring, cutting Caleb off. “If you could come back in here a minute, love?”

A few seconds later Caleb reappears through the doorway, looking uncertain, but Molly beckons him closer. As soon as Caleb's in range, Molly grabs him by the lapels of his coat and yanks him down into a kiss, pulling a surprised noise from the wizard; it doesn't take long at all for Caleb to start kissing back. Molly can hear Jester beside them cooing and making kissy noises, but he couldn't care less.

They pull apart after a moment, and Molly feels just a little smug at the dazed expression on Caleb’s face. He takes Caleb’s face in his hands and pulls him in so their foreheads press together, and Molly can’t help but smile as Caleb goes cross-eyed trying to look at him.

“Thank you, Caleb. This is- this is incredibly thoughtful of you.”

A blush darkens Caleb’s cheeks, and he smiles. “I want you to feel safe, _schatz_. If this can help, then it’s worth it.”

Molly has a thought, and pulls back slightly, moving a hand to brush some of Caleb’s hair aside. There in Caleb’s earlobe is a matching earring, much more noticeable as the amethyst sparkles against his pale skin. He brushes a fingertip over it and Caleb shivers.

“Did you pierce your ear for me, love?”

“Well, technically Jester did it.”

Molly looks over to see Jester grinning at him, looking utterly delighted. “He was _totally_ brave, Molly, you should have seen him, he did not cry or _anything_. But I already healed it so you don’t have to worry about it getting infected at all. You’re all good to go!”

Molly turns back to Caleb and is again overcome with a tangle of feelings for the man in front of him. He hardly knows what to say, and so says what’s easiest. “Thank you, love.” He doesn’t know if Caleb can pick out all the layers of things, all the emotions wrapped up around the sparse words, but he hopes he does, at least a little.

~~~

Time passes, and Molly realizes he’s starting to grow restless again. He’s been enjoying his time in Zadash, appreciative of the time to heal, to recover, but he can feel his wanderlust starting to itch under his skin.

He brings it up at dinner that night, suggesting they visit the Menagerie Coast.

“It might be nice. Jester could see her mother, and we all could see the ocean. I hear it’s lovely. What do you all think?”

Jester squeals with delight, and Beau and Caduceus look thoughtful. Fjord starts telling them all sorts of things about the ocean, what it looks like, what it smells like, while Nott looks increasingly distressed at the existence of such a large body of water. They decide to start looking for supplies the next day to prepare, and that they’ll head out by the end of the week.

Molly’s excited to have something specific to look forward to, instead of just floating along like he has been. Having a goal keeps his mind off other much less pleasant things, and he finds the days speeding by in a happy bustle of preparation.

Soon enough they’re ready to go, all their things packed into their cart, and they’ve checked out of the Pillow Trove. They’re all gathered near the cart, and Molly’s about to hop up inside when Caleb stops him with a hand on his arm.

“ _Schatz_ , if you could wait a moment, please, we have something for you.”

Molly turns to find everyone gathered around in a semicircle, looking pleased and excited. He raises an eyebrow, curious. “What’s this, then?”

“Well, _schatz_ , we were thinking that there’s something you’ve been missing, and since it was in our power to do something about it, we thought we would.” Caleb pulls his arms out from behind him and in his hands is what’s obviously a coat. It’s a similar color to his old one, a rich carmine red, though of a much nicer make. He reaches out to take it, rubbing his fingers over the soft material, and notices that while the coat is largely plain, there are small splashes of color scattered around it. He unfolds the coat, and finds pieces of needlework done in varying levels of skill across the back and front. There’s a small neatly worked anchor in grey and a lollipop in a swirl of purple and pink on one of the lower back panels, a button design clumsily stitched on the other. On the two front bottom panels are a flower and a blue bird respectively, and on the top left, just over where his heart will be when he wears it, a small orange cat.

He realizes his friends have added their touches to his new coat, and he feels tears prick behind his eyes.

“I wanted to put someone _giving_ you the bird, but Fjord wouldn’t let me,” Beau grumbles, disgruntled.

Molly gives a laugh, a little wet around the edges, and hugs the coat close.

“We know it is not the same as your old coat, _liebling_.” Molly looks up to find Caleb watching him expectantly. “But we hope that you will enjoy this one as well, and don’t mind that we got it started for you.”

“No, this is-” Molly wipes a tear away from his eye, his smile growing wider. “This is wonderful, thank you. I’ll have to start thinking of what to put on it, and to leave room for Yasha when she finds us again. It has to be at _least_ as ridiculous as the last one. I’ll have to give it some serious thought.”

There’s another moment of quiet joy, and then Molly looks around at them all, the friends who worked so hard to get him back, who’ve been helping him since his return, and his heart gives a squeeze as he grins.

“Well let’s go, you assholes, sunlight’s burning.”

By mid-afternoon they’re a ways outside Zedash. The sun is shining brightly overhead, a light breeze tugging at hair and clothes. Molly, Caleb, and Nott are riding in the cart with Frumpkin purring quietly at Molly’s knee. Caduceus and Beau are up front while Jester and Fjord are riding alongside, and the air is filled with the steady _clip-clop_ of hooves and the creak of the cart.

Molly’s friends are talking quietly among themselves, and he has his new coat spread on his lap, a needle and thread in-hand as he contemplates it. It’s not the same as his old coat, and it never will be, but just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s bad. This coat has something his old one didn’t- pieces of his family lovingly worked onto it. He rubs his thumb over the small orange cat and smiles, flicking his eyes up to touch on Caleb for a moment; Caleb’s bent over a book as usual, oblivious to the world around him, and Molly’s heart warms. He hesitates a moment, then carefully reaches his tail out to loop loosely around Caleb’s wrist. Caleb startles, but when he sees Molly’s tail he looks up and _beams_ at Molly, his whole face lighting up before he goes back to reading, a small delighted smile on his face.

Molly knows he must be smiling like an idiot himself as he tilts his head back down to focus on his stitching.

He starts to work a silver crescent moon outline around the outside of the cat; as he works, he soaks in the sounds of his family around him, the feeling of being himself, of having control of his life again. As he works, he thinks about everything that's happened, all the ways he's changed. He thinks about how it has the potential to drag him down, to bury him. He thinks of his friends, his  _family_ , all the love and support they continue to show him in their actions and words, and comes to the realization he has a choice.

He can drown in the knowledge of the cruelty he's endured, or he can believe that the world is a better place than that, that he doesn't have to let his experiences define him and how he lives his life.  As the miles roll by under them, Molly tilts his face up to the sun, and believes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:  
> -hyper-vigilance  
> -consensual body modification (scarification)  
> -self-harm without the intent to cause harm (scarification)  
> -discussion of grief/mourning  
> -processing of trauma  
> -PTSD  
> -Mention of tail trauma  
> -permanent injury
> 
>  _cariad_ \- sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> Want to yell at me, ask me a question, or just say hi? Find me on tumblr at [Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/) or on twitter at the same handle.


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